Judging the Book by His Cover
by Germerica
Summary: Mr. Braginski and Alfred don't see eye to eye, but when "Mr. B" gives Alfred a chance to recover his tanking grade, the two slowly begin to realize they have more in common than what they thought.. Teacher!Ivan/Student!Alfred. Rated T for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING:  
>The following contains yaoi and studentteacher relations.  
>Don't like. Don't read.<br>I do not own Hetalia or any of it's characters.  
>All I own is the plot. <strong>

Ivan was a loner. He was cold and if one wouldn't be surprised if clemency was unknown to him. Whenever someone approached him, they did so with circumspect. There just was something wrong with his strange, empty smile and curt, abrasive behavior. In fact most avoided him whenever they could.

Most.

A certain Alfred F. Jones was the rare exception. He was the complete antitheses of Ivan; the anti-Ivan. Alfred was convivial and comfortable in copious groups of his peers and even his elders. He was popular and well liked. He was Mr. Star Athlete from Texas. He was tanned with perfect teeth, sandy blonde hair, and stunningly blue eyes that sparkled with youth.

Ivan hated him. He hated everything about him and at the mere thought of the loud-mouthed athlete, Ivan would clench his fists and his skin would crawl. Every time the boy opened his mouth to say something with his nasally voice, the muscles in Ivan's left brow would twitch ever so slightly. Ivan hated how Alfred was so charismatic. Alfred was never culpable in the eyes of his teachers and fellow classmates. He hated Alfred's cupidity for attention and that he always received it by his constant flock of peers who were ever-eager to please him. To a loner like Ivan, it was unfathomable why someone would need others' approval in order to feel consummated.

But Ivan was the teacher. He had to bottle up his diatribes every time Alfred turned in his cursory homework; a few vague answers scribbled onto a sheet of paper minutes before class. Instead, Ivan settled for a deprecative nod and bite back a scowl whenever Alfred smiled sheepishly, knowing the boy wasn't the least bit sorry for his lack of efficacy.

Today was no different as Ivan asked for papers. Everyone turned in their work except for Alfred. At least his cohorts had attempted the assignment and turned something in. Alfred however, simply shook his head whenever Ivan asked for his work.

"Sorry Mr. Braginski. I don't have it." he replied, daring to maintain eye contact the entire time.

"Sorry might get you an A in your other classes, but in my class, you're lucky if you're going to even _pass_ at this class." Ivan responded coldly.

Alfred's shoulders slumped.

"See me after class." Ivan added as an afterthought.

"I can't, dude! I have -"

"The excuse of a sport you call football? I know. And I could care less. My class is more important." Ivan sneered.

Alfred's expression darkened, but he didn't argue (a wise choice). The rest of the period was tense and Ivan noticed his students kept stealing glances at the disgruntled Texan, trying to read his mood. Ivan had to focus on his deep breathing so he didn't lose his cool and snap. Really! What was so interesting about Alfred? Perhaps it was the prospective idea of Alfred receiving punishment. That thought was almost enough to draw a genuine smile to Ivan's lips... Almost.

The bell rang and students wasted no time filtering from the room. Not that they usually lingered, but they moved much quicker. Ivan chuckled internally.

Alfred sat in his desk with his shoulders slumped. He had a rather childlike expression etched into his face; eyebrows drawn together, blue eyes wide, lip slightly stuck out. He looked like a puppy that had been kicked.

But Ivan wasn't going to buy it. He sternly ordered Alfred to stand in front of his desk, in which Alfred reluctantly obliged, wordlessly pulling himself from his seat to shuffle to the front of the room and stand in front of Ivan's desk.

"I cannot say I am dissapointed because you have yet to show any effort in my class, but you do realize if you fail my class you won't graduate?"

Alfred nodded, his eyes narrowed and locked onto the floor.

"Do you not understand what is covered in class?"

"I get it."

"Then do you simply neglect the work?"

Silence. Ivan sighed, opting for another tactic.

" You know your GPA has dropped drastically because of your grade in my class? You might not qualify for the team..."

At this Alfred's head snapped up and he went rigid, eyes widening considerably.

"I'd like to see you have me removed from the team," He challenged, an out-of-place dark glint in his eye, "I _am _the team and everyone knows it."

He had a point. Though Ivan hated the sport, the town loved it and hailed the boy as some kind of hero when it came to football. The town hadn't won a single game until Alfred came out of the blue and mowed over everyone else. The team currently had an undefeated season and high moral. If Ivan kicked him off, he'd be run out of town. He wasn't never he'd lose his job, but times were rough and he needed the paycheck. Aside from that He heaved a sigh.

"Do not hold yourself so high. I was contemplating on helping you, but you seem content on failing on your own and if an _anonymous_ letter informs the state that you do not qualify for sports..."

Realizing his threat was empty in the eyes of his teacher, Alfred quickly picked up where Mr. Braginski had left off, "Okay, okay, okay I get it." He mumbled.

"Good. Now let's not try that again. As I was saying, I know a way you can recover your grade."

Alfred perked up, "Seriously?"

Ivan rolled his eyes, "Seriously. But it will take some effort on your part."

Alfred vigorously nodded his head in agreement.

"Good. You must complete a one thousand word essay on any topic of your choice, outline and MLA citations included, and you must have at least ten hours of tutoring."

"WHAT? I mean, c'mon! A tutor? Really, dude? C'mon Mr. B!"

"Or you could fail..."

Alfred shut his mouth, the childish expression returned, but he nodded his head and muttered, "fine... I accept...".

"Excellent, now I'll make a call you your-"

"One exception!" Alfred interrupted.

Ivan raised one eyebrow, "I'm sorry. Did you think this was a negotiation? It's (how do you Americans say?) 'My way or the highway.'" Ivan said, his voice with a hint of amusement.

"I got it, just... just please don't call my Dad. He'll be pissed. Really pissed..."

Something akin nervousness skittered across the boy's eyes and an uncomfortable familiarity settled uneasily in Ivan's stomach. He pushed the feeling away and nodded.

"Fine. I expect that essay in 2 weeks and I'll write a note for you to come in during your study hall."

Alfred nodded and accepted the tardy note Mr. Braginski had written him. As he was about to leave the room he stopped. He turned and muttered a barely audible "thanks" and was gone in a flash.

Ivan watched him go and rubbed the bridge of his nose_, _wondering if doing "the right thing" was worth it.

* * *

><p><span>Notes<span>

This started out as a vocabulary assignment in English where we were supposed to write a story with a certain list of vocab words; I of course (sneakily) made a fanfic out of it.

I also have been DYING to write a Teacher!IvanxStudent!Alfred. I'm on my way to Hell I swear... I haven't written on my other stuff because I'm really stuck, but I'm pretty solid where I'm going with this and it shouldn't be long, but I felt I was going to explode if I didn't write something!

Thanks for reading, reviews and critiques are appreciated~!


	2. Chapter 2

It was quiet in Ivan's classroom. It had been an entire day since his talk with Alfred and they had agreed that Alfred would receive his tutoring on Wednesdays; Alfred claimed this would be the best day because his worked later on Wednesdays. Why that would affect Alfred's choice in day for tutoring was beyond Ivan, but he was just glad the boy had complied.

Ivan still couldn't believe he had offered his help to the American. Wasn't it just a few days ago he wanted to strangle the idiot or at least have him removed from his class? (He probably would have if he didn't feel the slightest shred of duty because he taught a class that was required credit) But there was something about the boy... something that quietly whispered to Ivan, "_I have potential..._"

Ivan shook his head. He wagered the boy would only show up a few times, complaining all the while, give up, and _maybe _pull off a D so that he was passing the class and had enough credit to continue sports. Ivan snorted. Sports were the only thing the boy ever thought about. It was as if he would _die _if he didn't get to play!

Ivan broke himself from his thoughts long enough to return to his mundane task of grading papers. He hated grading papers... It was as if his students weren't even trying more than half of the time! Sure there was a well written assignment here and there, but nothing extraordinary. Nothing that said, "I'm not just taking this class because I have to." Nothing that really showed talent. A handful gutsy, ignorant parents claimed he graded too tough, or that the assignment was too difficult, but he would simply smile and say, "or maybe your child is too accustomed to being rewarded for mediocrity." The combination of his large stature, eerily innocent smile, and cold, lavender eyes usually did the trick (he relied on those traits with those types of parents) and they stopped bothering him.

Nevertheless, Ivan had papers to grade and limited time to grade them. He really didn't want to take them home and he certainly didn't want to spend too much time at the school. Ivan leafed through the papers until he found one without a name on it and a handwriting that looked vaguely familiar. He shifted it to the top of the stack and began to read. His eyes widened as he continued down the page, entranced by the paper and how well its writer understood the assignment on character development in writing.

In all honesty, it was a rather simple story, and normally Ivan would regard the plot as childish or stupid,yet it was written so well and it conveyed a feeling that made Ivan almost feel as if he personally knew the primary character; like he actually _understood _the character. It was about some boy who would have been considered to be on the lowest social level and was simply referred to as Loser. The story told of how Loser was a tall, pale, acne-ridden teen whose limbs didn't quite fit his tall frame. The jocks picked on him, the pretty girls stuck their noses up at him (if they even noticed him), and even the nerdy kids joined in and claimed he was dumb. This was when Loser was in Middle School and Junior High. However, when Loser moved to a new city, he had a fresh start and a whole Summer to change his image. He frequented the gym, consumed lots of protein, and bulked up; filling out his frame making his body less scrawny compared to his height. He spent more time outside and gained a healthy tan and invested in acne cream, clearing up his face. With all the changes, he had become a rather handsome young man. When school started in the fall his freshman year, it was like he had entered a different world; an alternate universe where he was no longer Loser. He was suddenly popular, wanted, _ liked_.

Ivan set the paper down. He was stunned. A student with a talent for writing... He reread the story. It was still brilliant. He hadn't dreamed it. Quickly, Ivan reached for his favorite pen, an elegant fountain pen that had been a parting gift from one of his sisters, and scribbled and A at the top. He was almost _giddy. _Finally! A student who wasn't a complete dolt with a pen!

Then he remember the student hadn't signed their name.

Ivan almost instantly deflated. He sighed, he had a very strict "no name, no grade" policy. He couldn't revoke that now could he? It wouldn't' be fair would it? What if he made this one exception? He had to know who was such a fantastic writer and why he had never realized this before! He had to know.

As Ivan was internally debating whether or not to find the owner of the paper, he heard a knock on the door and a rather loud cough (the kind someone does when they want your attention.) Annoyed, Ivan looked up to see none other than Alfred standing in the door way.

With just one glance, Ivan could tell the boy had just gotten out of football (had Ivan really stayed that late at the school?). Alfred's hair was plastered to his forehead, save that ridiculous cowlick, and his skin had slight glisten of sweat. He still wore his football pads, cleats, and a tight-fitted, black, Under-armor shirt. The one thing that was out of place was a thick folder in his (shaky?) hands.

"Oh, cool. You're still here." He said when Ivan looked up.

"Unfortunately." Ivan replied.

Alfred chuckled a little bit and walked into the room towards Ivan's desk, clutching the folder tightly. Ivan raised a thick eyebrow. When Alfred reached the desk, he held out the folder to his teacher, an anxious expression was etched into his normally cheery features. If Ivan wasn't curious before, Alfred most certainly had his attention now.

"Here. I figured if you're gunna help me out and stuff... I should probably turn these in..." Alfred said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

Ivan gingerly took the folder and opened it. Violet eyes widened at the sight of every assignment that had been offered over the course of the semester. Yes, they were all here. Every last paper present and complete _in Alfred's handwriting. _

"How did you...?"

"I... just don't ask dude." Alfred said rubbing the back of his neck.

"Did you cheat?" Ivan asked with narrowed eyes.

There was no way that Alfred had done _all of these._ But Alfred looked offended and was quick to demonstrate as much.

"No! I swear I didn't, Mr. Braginski! I just.. never turned them in."

"Yet you kept up with all of them?"

"I was... never mind! They're here okay?"

Ivan inspected all of the dates and they were all correct. The papers were wrinkled and torn in places, signifying they had been the folder for some time.

"Fine. I believe you. But why are you just now turning them in?"

"Do we have to talk about this right now? I gotta get home..." Alfred nervously eyed the exit.

Ivan rolled his eyes and motioned toward the door in a get out fashion. Alfred gratefully took it after a quick, "thanks Mr. B!".

Ivan sighed and began looking at what Alfred had written. When he got halfway through the first paper, he realized he recognized the style. He recognized how the words flowed and how the handwriting looked on the paper.

"No... there is no way..."

Cautiously, Ivan picked up the nameless paper and held it next to Alfred's. He gasped.

_The handwriting was identical. _

__**Author's Note**

An update? I think so ladies and gentlemen! I'm so happy to be writing again. I absolutely love this story! It makes me happy. And I can't believe how long these chapters are. 0_0

**Special thank to angelstryke, evil temari, and CassiusKillard for being the first 3 reviews on this story!** You guys have no idea how much I love reviews. Reviews let me know if the story is liked enough to be worth continuing sometimes. I mean, I don't write for reviews, but they're really nice and it keeps me enthusiastic! So please review!

Well, I'll see you guys in a few days. Time to start planning Ch. 3~!

~GERMERICA


	3. Chapter 3

**Pre-Author's Note**

_I got a few reviews that stated I wasn't clear on what subject Ivan taught and I apologize for my neglectfulness. Ivan teaches English. I was going to have him teach Russian, but really, how many rural, small town, public schools have Russian? I know mine sure doesn't! Also the class is required, and last time I checked, English is required. But I imagined him as a writer and so he shall teach English. There will probably be a story behind that later on. Also, I listened to listening to _A Thousand Years _by Christina Perri while writing this. It really fits. _

_Italics are Alfred's writing._

_**COMMENCE THE STORY.**_

* * *

><p>The weekend came and went and Ivan had spent most of it by an open window in his study sipping tea and grading papers. He normally waited until Sunday to grade and he would spend the entire day marking the papers, grumbling about "slackers" and cursing his procrastination.<p>

But this time was different. Ivan had a reason to get through all of the other mundane assignments students hoped to pass off as work (though some really did try, and Ivan appreciated that), and that was a black folder sitting on the corner of his desk. The same folder Alfred had willingly surrendered to him on Friday after school. Ivan had already read two or three of papers and was once again shocked by the talent scrawled in between the fine blue lines on the paper.  
>So Ivan promised himself he would resume reading those precious papers <em>after <em>he completed his own "homework" of marking papers.

Ivan made sure to take his time so he was correct in his grading, but he knew not even the worst paper would receive a decent grade due to his blissful mood. _Finally, a student with talent! _Though it did strike him odd that it was _Alfred _of all students with this talent, this gift. However, he pushed the thought away as he picked up the folder and made his way from his desk to his favorite chair next to his window. Once Ivan was comfortable, he opened the folder and began reading, and once he started, he couldn't stop.

The boy _definitely_ had a gift.

He could write comedy that would appeal to a younger audience, he could write poetry, anything. But what troubled Ivan was how well Alfred could write tragedy. He could truly delve into one's fears or pinch a nerve or pinpoint loneliness.

Ivan began reading a paper that was almost a page long (much shorter than the other papers in the folder). Yet Ivan remembered the assignment well. The class had just finished reading Romeo and Juliet and Ivan had asked the class to write about something his students found "tragic."

Alfred wrote about his mother.

_She left without even saying goodbye. All she left was a note and a broken home. She left me, too. But she took my brother, Mattie. She took him, but not me__. Dad said it was because she liked him better because he wasn't as noisy. When I asked if he thought that, too, he told me to go to my room. He had answered my question, though. _

Ivan swallowed thickly when he read this. He considered moving on to a different paper, but something inside him told him to keep reading, so he did:

_ I miss Mattie. He was always there for me; he was my better half, my partner in crime, my safety blanket. Now he's gone because of _her. _ She took brother and my best friend and left me with _him _because they couldn't settle an argument without screaming or insulting each_ _other__ or hurting one another. They weren't just hurting each other, they were hurting _us_, too. I hate her. I hate him. I hate both of them._

_She left when I was six. _Six_. It's been twelve years since that happened and I haven't heard from either of them. Not. One. Word. Not on birthdays, not even on Christmas. I've tried to find them, but I can't. Dad says to give up, but I won't. I'll never give up because I know that Mattie is looking for me, too (Or, at least that's what I tell myself). But if I give up, I'll never know._

Ivan couldn't believe what he had just read. Did Alfred, the cheery happy-go-lucky football hero, really write this? Ivan wiped his eyes. There, on his finger, was a single tear. Deep in Ivan's heart, somewhere deep within his being that most would claim was his soul, he _knew _Alfred hadn't made this up. He wasn't exactly sure how he knew, or why it mattered or even why it affected him so much, but he knew one thing and that was that he knew why Alfred had been so hesitant to give Ivan the folder. For a brief moment, Ivan wondered if Alfred was even aware the paper was in there, and if he did, did Alfred purposely put it in there so Ivan would see it?

Was this some kind of cry for help? Alfred was always so happy, so optimistic, so charismatic... Ivan dashed all of his thoughts away. He didn't want to think about it.

And then there was that little voice in the back of his mind again, softly urging him not to suppress it like he usually did. Like how he suppressed his own memories of his sisters...

"Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it..." Ivan muttered as he made his way over down the stairs, into the kitchen and straight to the cabinet where the best remedy for pain await: Vodka.

Ivan didn't even bother to get out a shot glass. When was the last time he had used a shot glass? Why did that stupid paper make him so upset?

"None of it matters..." Ivan grumbled.

With the neck of the bottle held tightly in his hand, Ivan tipped his head back and let the clear, burning liquid crawl down his throat. He knew it was wrong. He knew he knew better. But no matter how many times he told himself it didn't matter, he knew it did, and he felt too weak to stop it.

So much for his good mood.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Notes<span>**

What the flying fuck is wrong with me? I cried writing this chapter. _Cried. _ Sheesh...

And what is with this thick plot? It wasn't meant to be this complicated! Why do I suck bananas? Seriously.

Again, thank you to **angelstryke, CassiusKillard, artfan, and wonderfulwonderfulwolf** for reviewing. I appreciate it so much!

Also, a big hug and a brownie to anglelstryke because she informed me my anonymous reviews were disabled, and I corrected that so now you don't have to have an account or login to review. YAY.

See you next chapter,

~GERMERICA


	4. Chapter 4

_Okay, so I know this might be kind of confusing, but this school uses a block schedule. If you don't know what a block schedule is, it's pretty much where a school day consists of four class periods that are and hour and a half long instead of eight 45 minutes classes. That way, classes alternate. So let's say Monday is an A day. You'll have 4 classes on that day, then on Tuesday, a B day, you'll have 4 different classes. This is important to the story because that means Ivan and Alfred don't see each other everyday. Thanks for sticking through that long-winded explaination._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Four<span>

The weekend had been agonizingly long for Ivan. Though he didn't remember much of it. Once he had sobered up, Alfred's story replayed over and over again in his mind, and all he could think about was his own bitter childhood that up until recently he had no trouble suppressing.

Damn that Alfred.

When Monday rolled around, Ivan could hardly focus. He _still _had a pounding headache and felt every-so-slightly hung over from the amount of vodka he had consumed over the weekend. He didn't feel like doing much with his class, so he put on the play Macbeth (the unit they were currently studying). When asked what the catch was (oh how clever the lazy student is!), he calmly responded that they were to write a report over the major themes of the play or analyze any symbolism of their choice, the minimum being one page. Most students groaned, but when he offered bumping the minimum up to two pages, they quickly quieted themselves.

Oh how clever the lazy student is!

Then came third period. That was Alfred's class period. Ivan felt his stomach knot as his students glumly filed into his room and took their seats. Why was he nervous? He had no reason to be nervous. None! Yet his eyes continued to scan the room for that familiar tanned face, those bright, shining, blue eyes, and that elegantly-disheveled, sandy, blonde hair...

What was Ivan thinking? He internally slapped his wrist. _Defiantly too much vodka... _He thought solemnly.

When the tardy bell rang, still no Alfred. Ivan pretended not to notice as he made his way to the front of the room like he would on any normal, given Monday during third period and began to recite the roster as he called roll. The students called out "here" as he made his way down the list and he had to focus not to lose his air of apathy as he reached Alfred F. Jones.

"Jones?"

No response. He scanned the class and sure enough, Alfred's seat was empty. Ivan sighed.

"Mr. Braginski?" One of Alfred's football friends called out, raising his hand (a motion Ivan assumed was a seemingly polite gesture though meaningless because he spoke without being called upon).

"Da?" Ivan replied, slipping into his Russian due to his lack of focus (it had taken him almost two years to shed his verbal tick of using "da" at the end of almost all of his sentences, so most of his students recognized the word).

"He wasn't at school today."

Not at school...?

"Oh. I see." He replied.

He continued mechanically down the roster until he hit the last name, then he preceded to give the assignment and sit at his desk. Alfred's papers were staring back up at him tauntingly. Ivan rubbed his temples. His head was throbbing and he longed to put his head down, but he knew he couldn't do that if he didn't allow his students to do the same.

But why wasn't Alfred at school? Was he sick? Was he injured? Why did it matter so much? Why did he care? Hadn't he utterly _loathed _the idiot only days ago? What was happening to him? Suddenly vodka sounded very appealing again... Just to clear his thoughts, or jumble them beyond recognition... Probably the latter.

His eyes wandered back to the empty seat. It unnerved him how calm and silent the class was when Alfred was gone. Ivan had never noticed this because Alfred never missed. Ivan knew he should love this new-found silence, yet he hated how eerily focused his students were. It was as if they only misbehaved because Alfred did. Did he really have that much influence over them? Was he really so admired? Ivan's stomach began churning again and he felt nauseous. He had to stop. Ivan knew he was being completely unreasonable! Alfred was no different from any other student Ivan had, or at least that was the mantra running through his mind.

An hour and a half later the dismissal bell rang. That screeching banshee-like sound was music to Ivan's ears. He watched the students routinely file out, their usual chatter drumming back up as they made their way to the exit. Once they were gone Ivan got up and shut the door. He had a prep period last period and preparing lesson plans were the last thing on his mind. He took a deep breath. The air in the room felt stale. Over-used. Lifeless. Lonely... Fuck he needed fresh air. He threw open the door and quickly shut it behind him, briskly walking down the hall. Ivan wasn't sure where he was going, he just knew he couldn't stay in that room all by himself for another hour and a half. He had never had problems with being alone! Why was being so illogical today? He made it as far as the teacher's lounge when he began to slow. He had reduced his pace down to his usual leisurely stroll as his mind began to calm and his blood began to circulate. That's when he heard voices coming from the slightly open door of the teacher's lounge. The voices belonged to women deep in conversation. Ivan halted outside the door as he caught a piece of their conversation. Eavesdropping by no means was something Ivan routinely did (normally he didn't give enough of a shit to eavesdrop), but that little gut feeling that had been haunting him the past few day made him stop.

"You mean you haven't heard?" The first teacher, a short, stocky woman (whose subject escaped Ivan) asked.

"No! I haven't." Replied the other woman, a younger teacher, whom Ivan believed might have taught some computer class, replied.

"I heard that there's a custody battle."

"Oh! Really?"

"Yes! Between the father and his uncle. And I heard his uncle was the whole reason the two moved here! Something about money troubles and the uncle offered to help." The first woman stated.

"Oh dear," the computer teacher said in a voice that stressed more worry than Ivan could believe was sincere, "But isn't he almost eighteen?"

"Who knows? I can't believe you hadn't heard! The whole town knows! That poor baby." The stockier woman said, again Ivan caught that over-dramatized, sickly-sweet concern.

By now, Ivan had silently slipped into the lounge and was pouring himself a cup of coffee (if only to appear like he had a purpose to be there). He inwardly shook his head for the poor fool they were gossiping about.

"Who do think will get custody?" The younger woman continued.

"I'm not sure, I hear the boy is rather fond of his uncle, but personally, I hope his father gets him."

This caught Ivan's attention. He hated gossip, but something in his heart twitched. Something about their conversation felt familiar and no matter how introverted he was, he had a pit in his gut and his feet were rooted to the spot.

"But, why? If he likes his uncle more, shouldn't he go with him?" The younger woman asked; Ivan felt a little better when he caught a hint of genuine concern in her question.

The short woman leaned in towards her conversational partner and said in a soft voice, "because his uncle is a _ queer_."

Ivan tensed. His hand clenched around the handle of his coffee mug. He could feel the muscles in his brow twitch and before he could catch himself, he heard himself clear his throat. The women looked at him in utter shock and the look in their eyes said _"How long have you been standing there?"_ Ivan merely gave them his empty smile and spoke coolly,

"My apologies, da? I wasn't aware this room was limited to those who wanted to gossip about our students."

The younger woman's expression crumbled into something that resembled, humiliation and shame, whilst the other puffed out her chest and glared at Ivan.

"Well you were eavesdropping!"

"It is easy when one cannot whisper, da?" He replied quaintly, his cold violet eyes never leaving hers.

She visibly gulped and backed down, mumbling in what assumed was an ill-thought-out rebuttal, but he didn't care. He had caught them in the act and they knew it. He had won this round and felt oddly satisfied that he made them feel guilty. It had felt good to speak up, something he normally would have never done in favor of quietly seething and slipping out unnoticed.

He calmly poured himself another cup of coffee and politely bid them farewell, strolling out of the lounge, down the hall, and into his classroom which felt no longer felt so cold and stale.

* * *

><p>On Tuesday, Ivan didn't have Alfred's class, but he knew that Alfred had tutoring on Wednesday afternoon and would also have him in class. It was an enigma, but that thought seemed to get him through the day. Ivan wondered if he should worry about it, but he didn't want to ruin his good mood... again.<p>

* * *

><p>On Wednesday, the day seemed to fly by, and it was third period before Ivan knew it. He watched the students shuffle in and chatter, casually making their way to their seats. Ivan sat at his desk, pretending to be interested in something on his desk, when in reality he was sneaking glances at the empty desk that had been assigned to Alfred.<p>

There was on minute until the tardy bell rang and the sandy blonde still had not arrived. Ivan felt something akin to disappointment settle in his thoughts, but he pushed them to the back of his mind feverishly. He was probably sick or something...

Then the door opened and there stood Alfred. He made his way to his seat without a word and the room erupted into whispers.

"I thought he moved?"

"I thought he changed schools!"

"He's so brave~"

"Dude, those are just rumors, Al wouldn't leave us!"

Ivan's eye twitched when he caught sight of Alfred's shoulders slump and his brow furrow. He watched as Alfred tried to joke with his friends, but it was obvious, at least to Ivan, that he wasn't truly in any state of mind for their usual banter.

He quickly stood and began conducting the lesson, a continuation of discussing the major themes and symbolism of Macbeth. For once, Alfred seemed relieved to start a lesson as all the whispering instantly died down. Ivan gave a brief lecture on possible topics and encouraged class discussion. A few students (namely the smart kids who wanted to succeed or weren't embarrassed to share their opinions) joined in, but Ivan eventually decided it was best to allow the students to work on their reports and turn in make-up work, something Ivan rarely allowed.

The class began working on the task at hand and Ivan went over to Alfred's desk and quietly explained the report that had been assigned last period. Alfred didn't respond, but nodded and got out a sheet of paper and began writing. Ivan furrowed his brow, but said nothing as he sat back down.

When class ended, Ivan quietly motioned for Alfred to stay. Alfred watched at everyone else filtered out of the room, and when the last person left, he slowly made his way to Ivan's desk.

"Yeah, Mr. Braginski?" He asked.

"I believe, this, is yours?" Ivan stated, handing Alfred the black folder he had given Ivan last Friday.

Quickly, Alfred snatched it and nodded. He opened the folder and his eyes widened. In red ink on the top of each page was a grade.

"You actually read and graded them...?" Alfred asked in disbelief.

"Of course. I told everyone in my class at the beginning of the year that if you take an interest in succeeding in my class, then you will be rewarded. You made an effort to improve your grade when given the opportunity, and it was rewarded," Ivan stated simply.

A grin spread across Alfred's face, "thanks, Mr. B!"

Ivan grunted and nodded, "we will discuss your work in tutoring today, don't forget."

Alfred's smile faded into a pout and he rolled his eyes, "yeah, yeah, yeah. I got it..."

"Good. Now go to class." Ivan dismissed.

Alfred left the room and Ivan began grading the late work his students had turned in. Ivan knew that Alfred's writings weren't going to be the only thing discussed.

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><p><span>Notes<span>

DONE! FINALLY DONE! Ugh this chapter was kinda hard to write. I tried to make it longer because the last chapter was super short. I was going to incorporate tutoring in this chapter, but I felt like it would be overkill, so that will be in the next chapter.

I tried editing this chapter more because I reread the others and found a lot of mistakes (all of which I'm to lazy to fix...heheh...)

Review credits:  
><strong>Cerulean Gaze, angelstryke, wonderfulwonderfulwolf, Artfan, CassiusKillard, <strong>and **Oceanfur. **

****Thank you so much for your reviews! They are very appreciated and make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside~!

-GERMERICA


	5. Chapter 5

_Ugh, I hate the amount of dialouge in this. Please forgive me._

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><p>Ivan sat quietly at his desk arranging lesson plans during his prep period when he heard a knock at the door and the the click of it being opened. Annoyed, he looked up only when he heard the scrapping of chair legs across the floor and a boisterous greeting:<p>

"Braginski, we gotta talk."

It was none other than Alfred's football coach, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Gilbert was a German albino who used the word "awesome" far too much for Ivan's liking and his narcissism was seemingly unbridled. He had once-upon-a-time been the head coach at some highly-ranked university in Germany, but something had happened (and he refused to say what; though no matter how suspicious that sounded, he still landed the school's head coaching position  
>with ease ), and he had moved to the most remote town he could find with a less than desirable sports program (even going through the trouble to learn about American football) so that he could build the program from the ground up as some sort of self-redemption attempt. Ivan had to admit he was probably a good coach, but the only talent on his team was Alfred, which Ivan assumed earned him a visit from the annoying albino.<p>

"Fine. I have time." Ivan said reluctantly, not because he was intimidated by the coach, but because he had work to do and this was really cutting into his time; yet if he said no, it would appear he was cowering and even Ivan knew when pride needed to step in.

"It's about Jones..."

Ivan hated being right...

"Go on." He sighed, expecting Gilbert to get in his face and rant and rave like he normally did.

Yet the ranting and raving never came. Gilbert simply looked at his hands in his lap as if they were the most interesting things in the world for a moment, then his narrowed, red eyes focused on Ivan.

"He told me he won't be in practice on Wednesday afternoons, and when he said it was because of grades, well, I was pissed. Really pissed. I was awesomely armed to march into your classroom and tear you a new one Braginski!"

Ivan had to fight the urge to roll his eyes and his eye twitched, but Gilbert didn't notice and he kept speaking.

"But -cough- lucky for you -cough- , Al claimed full responsibility of his grade in here and, well, I just gotta know what you said to him!" Gilbert finished, his ruby eyes sparkling with, what was it? Pride? Excitement?

This was definitely not going where Ivan thought it would, not that he minded. He wasn't one to often accept accolades, but they were better than an angry football coach in a small Southern town in the middle of Nowhere where football was right up there next to God Himself.

Quizzical, Ivan raised an eyebrow, "I'm not quite sure I understand."

Gilbert laughed, "Al thinks he's never in the wrong. I've been trying to drill into him that he's not always as awesome as he thinks he is. When I told him I'd talk to you, he told me not to worry, that he had it. You don't know how awesome that was for me to hear."

_He really said that...? _Ivan pondered.

"I simply told him that he needed the tutoring if he wished to continue sports and did not want to fail." Ivan responded in a much calmer tone than he felt. Inside, Ivan was practically _glowing. _

Gilbert smirked, standing up, "well it worked. You're not too bad Braginski. If missing one of my awesome practices out of five days of the week means having him play all season, then I guess I'll let it slide this time." The white-haired man said with a wink.

He put the chair back where it had been on his way out, but before he left, he turned to Ivan, "Hey! Braginski!"

Ivan turned his attention back to the man, hoping he would leave already. Ivan was glad the albino brought positive news, but that didn't change the fact he was still annoying...

"The kid really looks up to you, -cough- almost as much as he looks up to the awesome me- cough- and he's going through a really unawesome time right now... So, you know..." Gilbert trailed off, unable to say what was on his mind.

"I will keep that in mind. Thank you. And Coach Beilschmidt?"

"Ja?"

"I would do something about that _unawesome _cold, da?" Ivan said with an almost genuine smile.

Gilbert looked stunned for a moment, then broke into a grin showing off his white teeth, "Like I said, you're not too bad, Braginski." And with that, Gilbert left.

Ivan shook his head, but his mood was soaring.

_'The kid really looks up to you...' _; Those words were on repeat in Ivan's mind and he couldn't wait for that afternoon.

* * *

><p>Ivan had given up on trying to plan after Gilbert had left and so he had begun reading his book, <em>The Naked Communist. <em>It was somewhat of a dry read, but it was told from a Capitalist point of view, and was described much differently from how Ivan grew up. In other words, it intrigued him. He hadn't even noticed the time until he heard the door shut. He knew who it was, but he kept reading. No need to rush. Ivan heard the rustle of papers and the clicking of a pen. A few more minutes passed.

"Dude, no book is that interesting. In fact, _nothing_ is more interesting than me." Alfred said, his tone clearly announced his annoyance.

"I beg to differ." Ivan stated and finally set the book down. That was when he caught the first glimpse of post-practice Alfred.

The boy's hair shimmered with moisture and his tanned skin was a delightful contrast to the stark white t-shirt that clung to his chest, hinting that underneath lay toned muscles. He also wore dark-washed jeans that hugged his hips and thighs, accenting how well built the boy was. Ivan's breath caught in his throat, and he quickly swallowed it. He coolly made his way over to where Alfred was sitting and pulled up a chair. As soon as he sat down, the smell of men's deodorant and a soft pleasant (even if somewhat cheap) men's cologne wafted into his nose. He pushed the thought of Alfred smelling good back into the recesses of his mind.

"No dude, almost all books suck. Unless they're comic books..." He muttered, jerking Ivan from his thoughts.

"Perhaps I should give you a reading assignment? Reading could help with your writing, da~?" Ivan said, his voice almost sing-song. Since when did he sound so happy...?

"How about not? I don't read." Alfred said stubbornly.

"But you said something about comic books, da? I suppose that could count as reading..." Ivan began.

"I DID NOT," Alfred said defensively his azure eyes wide, "comics are lame."

Ivan quirked an eyebrow, but didn't question it. The boy was a strange one he was.

"Well you should read something. Even if it is fiction. If you read, you can see how others write and if you like that style, you can practice it and incorporate it into your own." Ivan said helpfully.

Alfred nodded begrudgingly, "yeah... I guess that makes sense."

The two of them discussed a few possible books Alfred could read (though he only expressed interest in three) and looked over a few of his writings. Ivan gently pointed out mistakes and offered things he could do to improve. Alfred pretended he didn't care, but attempted to secretly jot down notes. Ivan was amused, but refrained from pointing it out due to the fact that he knew Alfred would discontinue just to spite him. They had successfully worked through an hour and Ivan decided it was time he and Alfred talked about something other than proper grammar uses and why one adjective is better than another. However socially inept Ivan was, he knew he needed to be gentle and tread carefully over the thin ice he knew he was about to walk on. Part of him wanted to pretend he didn't care, but the other part was pressuring him to talk to the boy. Get to know him. Let him know he noticed how he hadn't quite been himself. Let him know he... _cared. _He took a deep breath through his nose. Here went nothing...

"I spoke to Coach Beilschmidt today." He said slowly, watching as Alfred whipped his head up from his "totally-not-notes" (as Alfred had put it) to look at the older man.

"What? When?" He demanded, eyeing Ivan suspiciously.

"Last period during my preparation period. He paid you a few compliments," Ivan stated, best to stoke Alfred's ego every-so-slightly so that Ivan knew he had the American's attention (which was difficult to keep a hold on unless it was about him.)

"Oh... So what did ya talk about, huh?" Alfred said, eyes partially narrowed in suspicion.

Ivan gave him a half smile, "Oh it was idle chit-chat. We mostly discussed how he is fine with you accepting tutelage. He was quite impressed."

Alfred gave Ivan his winning smile, "I am pretty awesome, ain't I?"

"Aren't-" Ivan lightly corrected (a grammatical habit of his) in passing, pressing on before the Texan could protest, "And yes, I suppose one could say that," Ivan took a deep breath, knowing what he was going to say next had to be executed in a most delicate manner, "but he is a little worried about you and I must say I share some of that concern."

The bright, toothy grin on Alfred's face slowly faded until it was nothing but a thin line as the boy pursed his lips. His usually shining, oceanic eyes darted to the side, looking at everything but his teacher.

"Oh. Yeah. It's nothing, just not getting enough sleep." Alfred spurted out.

Ivan kept his gaze level on Alfred, causing the boy to fidget and squirm under the violet gaze. Ivan didn't buy that excuse for a minute and he knew it.

"Lack of sleep is often the result of unrest, and unrest is the result of an emotional issue." Ivan stated. He made an intense effort to make sure that his voice didn't sound superior or all knowing. If he knew Alfred like he knew Alfred (and he was _pretty sure_ he knew Alfred), superiority would not work in his favor.

"Dude, what are you? A therapist? I don't need some stinkin' therapist! I'm fine, okay?" Alfred snapped, locking blue on lavender.

"I never said you needed a therapist, Alfred," Ivan said calmly, "I did however study psychology and know when someone has dark circles under their eyes and becomes agitated when another expresses concern, then adamantly insists they are fine, it often means something is, in fact 'not okay' and they may not be 'fine'." Ivan said, never breaking eye contact with the blue eyes that widened as Ivan spoke.

Alfred seemed to ponder this for a moment, as if for once, something the Russian said actually sunk in. He looked down at the desk and his brow furrowed, and Ivan could see the cogs in his mind turning feverishly in his eyes as he bore a hole into the desk with an intense stare. He sat like this for a few moments before his expression still serious (a look that didn't suit him in Ivan's opinion) before he looked up at the older man, and spoke.

"I'm surprised you haven't heard. I thought everyone knew..." He said. His voice was cold, his tone bitter, his eyes steely.

Ivan didn't like this new, serious Alfred. And what did he mean by "I'm surprised you don't know?" Ivan took another deep breath to calm his nerves. He didn't like where this was going, but he wasn't doing this for himself.

"If you don't want to talk-" Ivan began, but the younger man cut him off.

"No dude, it's cool. You're gonna hear about it anyways, so it might as well be from me. That way so it's the _right _version and not some down-the-grape-vine crap." Alfred said curtly.`

Ivan nodded; gossiping in this town was like an infectious disease. One could start a rumor in the morning, and by that evening, everyone would know. Alfred took Ivan's nod as a "go on" and continued.

"My Dad and I don't exactly get along. It's been a little bit better since we moved, but not much. We moved to be closer to my uncle, who moved here to work on his latest novel. My uncle and I grew apart when Mom left, because he's her brother and I didn't believe him when he said he didn't know where she went. He used to be really over-protective and he fought with my dad a lot, so I didn't like him. But now that we live in the same town, and he met his, erm, _friend, _he's been a whole lot better." Alfred paused, looking to Ivan for feedback.

"I'm listening," Ivan replied, "go on."

So Alfred continued, "I remember right after Mom left, my uncle and my dad got into a _really, really _nasty argument. It lead to a custody battle and for some reason, my uncle lost... He didn't talk to us after that. At least, not until now. But recently they've been arguing again, and my uncle says that Dad isn't a good enough parent. So he's bring the custody issue back up again..." Alfred concluded.

Ivan pondered this for a moment. Why did this seem so familiar? Then he remembered the two women from earlier in the week. Hadn't they been discussing a custody battle? Could it be...? When Ivan finally pieced all the information together ,prayed his face didn't reveal the surprise he felt as he realized that he _had _heard the rumor circling around Alfred (Indirectly, at least.) The worst part was, for once in his life, Ivan had nothing to say. He had no idea where to even begin if he were to say something! However numb his mind felt, he still heard himself speak (which had been happening too often as of late...).

"I'm sorry to hear that." Ivan said quietly.

Alfred gave him a warm, assuring smile, "'S all right, Mr. B. Whatever happens happens y'know?"

"Da. That is a good way to look at it." Ivan responded, still in shock from what he had learned.

"Well, I really gotta get going," Alfred drawled, "Oh! But one more thing!" He said, nearly bouncing up and down with excitement.

"And what would that be?" Ivan replied, raising a thick eyebrow, but said nothing. He really did prefer this Alfred (no matter how annoying) compared to the previous boy he encountered.

"If I gotta go totutoring, then you have to come to my football games and see how awesome I am!" Alfred stated, his grin reaching from ear to ear.

Ivan inwardly groaned. He hated sporting events. There were too many overly-enthusiastic, shouting fans all packed into too-small stands for Ivan's personal taste (though once upon a time he had enjoyed hockey; but that was _years _ago). But, if only for the American's sake, he smiled.

"Fine. It is a deal." Ivan replied.

"Dude, really?"

"Really."

"Awesome!" Alfred laughed, moving his arm in a fist pump motion to celebrate his victory, "See you later Mr. Braginski!" Alfred half sang and he sprinted out of the room.

Ivan sighed, but still found himself smiling. Again, he sat alone in his room wondering what he had gotten himself into.

* * *

><p><span>Notes<span>

So, I'm sorry that my chapters are really short compared to most stories. It kind of annoys me, but I didn't want this chapter to be overkill. I'll write a long chapter someday when I'm grown up... x_x

As for now, I'm stuck with the chapter being _almost _3,000 words (not including my notes. This chapter had 2,801 words. WOOT).

Also, some words freak me out, like "manor" and "manner". I sat at my computer for 5 minutes trying to decide which one to use. I finally decided on "manner" because a "manor" is like a mansion, right? Fuck you English language... Fuck you. And don't get me started on "Aren't". I would be very embarrassed if I had Ivan correcting Alfred's grammar when his was wrong, too. XD

Rate and Reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading.

~Germerica


	6. Chapter 6

**I do not own Hetalia nor do I own The Ancient Mariner or The Naked Communist. Please enjoy Chapter 6.**

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><p>"<em>PLEASE<em>? C'mon, dude! You _gotta _come! How many times to I have to ask?"

Ivan's eye twitch (known more commonly as Alfred F. Jones) had returned full force the following Friday. It had seemed their little chat on Wednesday had cheered Alfred up, but at what price? Alfred stood, no, now he was _ kneeling _in front of Ivan before an amused (and partially shocked) class, _begging _Ivan to come to one of his stupid American football games.

"Alfred! Get back in your seat. _Now._" Ivan said. On his face was a polite smile, but his eyes held malice.

Alfred responded by sticking out his bottom lip and turning his eyes up at the tall, Russian man. Ivan wanted to kick him and had to strain not to do so. How much time had Alfred's little show eaten out of Ivan's class time? The older man had to estimate about a solid fifteen to twenty minutes; in other words, far too many.

"Alfred, if you do not take your seat in the next three seconds, I will have no choice but to double the homework assignment for the whole class." Ivan stated matter-of-factly, empty smile never faltering.

The class groaned in unison, most begging Alfred to stop, some empty threats (mostly from the football boys) and many, many complaints that they already had too many assignments. Even the good, studious students' shoulders slumped at the prospect of extra work in Mr. Braginski's class. Yet Ivan never gave in to students' whining and the threat didn't budge. Alfred narrowed his eyes and gave a dramatic sigh, then slowly pulled himself up.

"You win this time, Braginski." He said over his shoulder as he made his way back to his seat.

Ivan smiled. He always won, though Alfred had succeeded in eroding quite a bit of class time. Ivan thought it best to ignore it for now and continue the lesson on The Ancient Mariner. The class was wise enough to quickly get refocused and pay attention as Ivan explained the next few class schedules to them.

"I should have the test over Macbeth on Tuesday," He said and a few students, including Alfred, cringed, "but because it is Friday and because Alfred _did _show such a wonderful display of dramatic prowess-" the class snickered and Alfred flushed slightly-"I will push the test back to Thursday."

At this, the class erupted into a cheer. Ivan let them celebrate for a few moments before clearing his throat, an effective sign that he would like for them to quiet down. They quickly settled down before Ivan had the chance to change his mind (Ivan loved how clever the lazy student was).

"However, the homework _will be due _on Tuesday." He stated, earning several sighs but no real complaints.

He chuckled as the bell rang right on time and the class filtered out to head to their fourth and final class of the day.

Ivan sighed as he took a seat at his desk once all the students were gone. The old, leather, office-like chair groaned slightly under his large frame and he uttered a small curse, mentally reminding himself to consider investing in a new chair. He was just about to begin the endless and mundane task of entering grades into the grade book when he heard someone clear their throat. He looked up to see Alfred still sitting at his desk, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Wow. That really is effective!" He said, a smirk in his voice.

Ivan rolled his eyes and replied, "what do you want, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred's grin widened, as if he liked the sound of being called "Mr." and he spoke,"I was being serious earlier. About the game."

"I find that hard to believe," Ivan said, recalling how the boy had wasted his time. _No matter how cute and amusing it had been... _A little voice in the back of his mind whispered. Ivan shut it out.

"Well I was. " Alfred stated, getting out of his seat.

He sauntered over and placed his palms face down on Ivan's desk and leaned in, peering over the rim of his glasses at Ivan. His azure eyes sparkled, but with what Ivan wasn't sure and he didn't want to leave it to his imagination (that was a little too overactive as of late) to ponder. He focused his vision on his papers like they were more interesting than the blonde leaning over his desk.

"So you're coming, right? It'll hurt my feelings if you don't..." Alfred said. Even though Ivan wasn't looking at the boy, he could clearly picture his expression; his eyebrows were turned down and his lip stuck out in that adorable little pout that he had mastered. The same sultry pout that made all the girls swoon. Ivan hated that pout.

"I don't really like sports..." Ivan said truthfully, receiving another pout and heavy sigh.

"Well that's too bad, Mr. Braginski because you _promised_ you would. We had a deal, remember? Plus, I already got your ticket." Alfred whined as he stood up and dug through the pockets of his old bomber jacket that he had inherited from his grandfather (Ivan only knew this because he had heard bits and pieces of the story from the boy while he was bragging about it at the beginning of the year).

"See?" He said, revealing the ticket.

Ah yes. The "deal" they had made on the grounds that if Alfred had to attend tutoring, Ivan must attend a game in turn. Damn the boy was clever. Ivan never went back on his deals; going back on a deal was like losing and Ivan _did not like losing._

"Fine..." Ivan grumbled, disgruntled by the fact that Alfred had chalked up another victory over him.

With a victorious "Aha!" Alfred triumphantly held the ticket up in the air for Ivan to see, then stole a piece of tape from the tape dispenser on the older man's desk and taped the ticket to the monitor of Ivan's computer.

"I had to beg Coach to let me have an extra ticket so don't disappoint me, Mr. B!" Alfred said with a wink.

Ivan sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to win. "Fine." He muttered. For someone who normally always got his way, Ivan had been losing more and more to Alfred lately, but it was worth it to see the young man's eyes light up and shine a brilliant blue with excitement.

"Really?" Alfred asked, jumping up and down like a small child who knew he was getting his way.

"Really. Now get out before I change my mind." Ivan sighed at the strange sense of deja vu.

Alfred beamed and shot out the door. Ivan's eyes had followed him the whole time. Had the boy really gone through all the trouble just to make sure Ivan would come watch him participate in some ridiculous, testosterone-fueled, excuse of a sport? In some way, deep down, Ivan knew he was flattered. However, a strange sense of foreboding had crept into the recesses of him mind and gnawed at his subconsciousness. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but Ivan had a hunch it had to do with the look in Alfred's eyes when he had leaned over his desk... Was the room getting a tad bit warmer? Ivan lightly tugged at his scarf (another parting gift that he had received from his other sister) and pushed the thought away. The best thing to do, Ivan decided, was to not think about it.

* * *

><p>Ivan had come to the realization he had made a mistake. As soon as he had entered the stadium that night, he remembered why he hated sporting events (Except for hockey. He had been quite the hockey player back in his days in Russia). The stadium was brightly lit by the Friday Night Lights and it was loud and crowded. Ivan hated the latter two passionately.<p>

He had to constantly remind himself from the moment he walked out the door of his house that he wasn't doing this for himself. He was doing this for his student who had used his own time and money to purchase Ivan a ticket. Ivan concluded that was the reasoning behind why he was weaving through a thick mass of people at the stadium gates. He refused to believe that a guilt-trick actually worked on him. Ivan almost never felt guilt of any sort. Ever. He also refused to believe that another reason he was here was because of the way the boy had looked at him and Ivan never wanted to see disappointment in those eyes. There was no way in Heaven or Hell that it was because of those dazzling, blue eyes. Besides, it would simply be _rude _not to attend. Ivan was polite personified! So that settled it. He was here on an account of his need to be polite, and _not_ for Alfred. Period.

When Ivan finally found a spot, the band was already on the field preparing for the national anthem. Ivan was always uncomfortable when it came to crowds and American patriotism. If there was one thing Ivan learned living in rural, deeply-Southern America, it was that people loved their nation. Sure some students would rather move to Europe or Japan or some other exotic place, but the majority bled red, white, and blue. Ivan was fine with this as he considered himself very culturally tolerant, but he had been raised in a very pro-Russia household. Some days Ivan would go as far as to say at one point in his life he had actually been anti-America. However, Ivan had moved past that stage in his life, but the beliefs he had been raised in were still deeply rooted into his being and such was reflected when he heard the drum roll of the Star-Spangled Banner. People around him began to stand and place their hands over their hearts. But not Ivan. Sure he would stand (to be respectful, of course), and Ivan knew he would later receive scornful looks afterwards because he would not sing nor would he place his hand over his heart. This nation did not have his heart, so why even pretend?

The trumpets came in strong and were followed by the rest of the band in total harmony. All was silent in the stadium save the band. Ivan had to resist the urge to squirm. He stared straight forward, and halfway through the song (at the place where Ivan believed it mentioned 'the rockets red glare'), he saw two men standing side-by-side. One was a considerably short man with slightly disheveled, short, blonde hair. The other was a bit taller (though still much shorter than Ivan) with shoulder-length blonde hair (the hair was a different shade from the other man's hair). However, what struck Ivan and grabbed his attention was that neither had his hand over his heart. The shorter man had his hands in his pockets and his companion had his behind his back.

Ivan was stunned. When the final cord of the anthem came to a close and people started to applauding, he heard the shorter man speak,

"Alright, Frog, you got me to join you in spectating this bloody sport, now when do we see Alfred?" He snapped, his accent was undeniably British.

"Oh calm down mon cher~! Do not make it sound like such a chore! He should enter the field soon." The other spoke in a soothing tone, and the thick French accent was a nice touch.

Ivan's eyes went wide. Of all the places he could have sat, he found himself with foreigners like himself. He felt almost _happy._ Sure he would prefer someone from Russia or maybe Ukraine or Belarus (in other words, basically anyone who would most likely know Russian), but he honestly didn't care at the moment. What surprised him most though, was that it sounded like they had connections to Alfred. Ivan battled whether he should say anything or not, and finally decided that he shouldn't. Besides, what would he say? _Oh! Privet! You know Alfred and do not come from America? What a coincidence!_ Ivan didn't think so. Instead, Ivan decided to pull out his book and attempt to read. Yet whatever Fate (if there even was a thing. Ivan didn't believe in that nonsense) had other plans.

"Excuse me, but what are you reading?"

A voice, directed towards the Russian snapped him out of his reading. Ivan looked up to come face to face with a pair of bright, green eyes staring at him intently from under thick, bushy eyebrows. Ivan knew instantly it was the British man from his voice. Ivan had to shake himself for a second to keep from staring before he responded.

"Oh. I am reading W. Cleon Skousen's The Naked Communist." Ivan suddenly wished he had a different book. He realized how ridiculous he seemed reading a book about communism with his Russian accent which sounded thicker than it ever had. Ivan hoped he didn't look as embarrassed as he felt.

"Ah. I see," The blonde said, nodding, "Quite a good read, even if it is a bit dry." He said appreciatively.

"So you have read it?" Ivan said, feeling less subconscious.

"I have. Not my preferred genre, though. My father made me read it before I went to university because he wanted me to be a politician." He continued.

Ivan raised his eyebrows, "So you study politics?"

"Not anymore. It wasn't my cup of tea. However, I did put my years at law school to use and I'm now an attorney." He chuckled, "The name is Arthur Kirkland by the way. And this is Francis." at this, Arthur motioned to the Frenchman.

"A pleasure, Mr. Kirkland. I am Ivan Braginski." Ivan replied, his insecurity fading.

It wasn't until after Ivan introduced himself that the Frenchman turned to face him. He smiled warmly at Ivan and spoke,

"Oh you must be Mr. Braginski! Alfred has talked about you!" Francis said.

When Francis registered Ivan's confused looked, he continued, "Oh! I am so sorry! I am Alfred's uncle. Francis Bonnefoy."

As soon as the words left Francis' mouth, Ivan could instantly see the resemblance. They had the same excitable, blue eyes and thick blonde hair. Even the smile was the same; a contagious grin that spread from ear to ear (though Francis' was much softer and worn with age).

"It is good to meet you as, well Mr. Bonnefoy." Ivan replied.

Francis laughed (a startling contrast from his nephew's cackle).

"Please just call me Francis! There is no need to be so formal, mon ami!" He stated, warmly extending his hand.

Ivan took it and was pleasantly surprised that the grip was firm. The Russian smiled back at the Frenchman.

"In that case, you may call me Ivan." He said, releasing his handshake with Francis.

The pleasant conversation was rudely interrupted though by Arthur jumping to his feet, a scowl on his face. Apparently the game had begun without either Ivan or Francis noticing, but Arthur had, and though Ivan had just met the man, it was already very apparent he was very competitive. He jerked his head to face Francis who seemed very amused.

"Are we the Blue team? Quickly Frog!" He snapped, green eyes ablaze.

"Oui, Arthur. We are the Blue team." The Frenchman chuckled, not seeming to mind the incredibly rude nickname the Briton had used.

"Good. I'll be damned if I root for the wrong team." Arthur stated, he then proceeded to shout towards one of the home team's players who had been tackled to "get off his arse and take it like a man."

Ivan didn't know whether to be amused or disturbed. However, Francis simply laughed, lightly patting the Englishman's arm.

"Do not hurt yourself, cher. It would be most unfortunate~" Francis mused.

Arthur shot him a glare and mumbled about how Francis just didn't understand and how he was a dirty, lewd, frog; but he sat down anyways, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the field. Francis chuckled and lightly pecked Arthur on the cheek, causing the man to turn a bright shade of pink and curse.

Ivan was shocked. Could they really do that? Here? In public? At a school sporting event surrounded by well over four hundred redneck sports fans? Ivan looked around and saw everyone was so engrossed in the game that no one had noticed. Ivan wasn't even sure why he was so panicked about it, either. Normally it was none of his business and Ivan knew better than to become attached, and so quickly to boot! He reasoned that perhaps it was the fact that these men were foreigners and Ivan felt a connection to them. _They also know Alfred. That's another connection..._The annoying little voice in the back of Ivan's mind purred. He squeezed his eyes shut and ignored it.

Ivan needed a distraction. He looked to Francis, but he was busy trying to distract a rather frustrated Arthur from watching the game. He then tried reading, but it was far too loud and his mind was far to rattled to focus and he ended up reading the same sentence at least a dozen times. Feeling desperate, Ivan took his chances and cast his gaze down to the field.

He wished he hadn't.

There, on the sideline, was none other than Alfred. Or at least that's who Ivan thought it was. He politely asked Francis, who took a few moments from pestering Arthur to confirm that was indeed his nephew. Ivan nodded and watched as Francis went back to irritating his _companion. _Ivan's eyes wandered back to the boy on the sideline. Once his eyes were there, Ivan couldn't seem to remove them.

The football spandex clung to his calves and thighs, showing off how well toned and shaped his long legs were. His hips weren't exactly narrow, but they weren't exactly wide either. They were, however, slightly curvy in a masculine way. His jersey clung to his flat stomach, and the thick shoulder pads accentuated his barreled chest and broad, well build shoulders. His neck was long and slender and his jaw was well set. Ivan couldn't see the rest of Alfred's face because he had squeezed his helmet back on and began trotting towards the field. Once on the turf, Ivan could truly compare Alfred's body to the others; none of them were build quite as perfectly as Alfred F. Jones. Not one. Alfred squatted, ready to catch the ball once hiked (couldn't remember all the football terminology, but he knew hike was important). The play went into action and all movement became a blur.

But Ivan kept his eyes on Alfred's number. It was an easy task, much to Ivan's shock. The boy had the grace of a dancer as he leaped over his fallen comrades, skirted around the opposing players, and sprinted down the the field, yard by yard. The whole crowd roared and stood up and Ivan was standing, too, unsure when he had become so engrossed in the sport.

"_Run, git, run!_" Arthur shouted in what Ivan assumed was a supportive way.

Francis stood beside Arthur, his hands clasped and he was cheering as well. Ivan didn't cheer, but he knew his eyes were just as wide as the rest of the crowd's. Alfred crossed into the in-zone with ease and the erupted into a shouts and applause. Ivan hadn't felt a sports' adrenaline rush since his hockey days in Russia, but _oh _did it feel good to be in a competitive environment again! He hadn't even realized how much he missed it until now. As the game progressed, so did the crowd's (and Ivan's) spirit. Alfred ran play after play, effortless leading his teammates to touchdown after touchdown. On the sideline, Ivan noticed Coach Beilschmidt jumping up and down like a small child on Christmas. There were only a few minutes left in the game and there was no hope of the other team catching up. Gilbert began calling in the strong players and patting them on the back, then much to Ivan's shock, Gilbert began sending out weaker players.

"That's what Gilbert loves most about having a strong team." Francis said with an admirable sigh, pulling Ivan from his thoughts.

"What are you babbling about, Frog?" Arthur asked, which was good because Ivan was curious, but he did not want to ask.

"He will send out those who would normally never get to play if they pull ahead like they have." Francis said, placing his hand over his heart dreamily, eliciting a grunt from Arthur who now had a jealous tint to his ironically green eyes.

Ivan, however, saw Gilbert in a whole new light. Surely Francis wasn't speaking of the same narcissistic, big-headed, albino German! Yet Ivan saw the strong players (including Alfred) take a seat on the bench, and the smaller, or less fast players took the field. Even from his place in the bleachers, Ivan could see the huge grin on the coach's face as he shook hands with the other coaches and congratulated his team on a job well done.

_Maybe there's more to this town than I thought..._Ivan thought with a small smile.

"Ivan?"

"Hm?" Ivan snapped out of his pondering when he heard the Brit say his name, "yes?" Ivan said.

"We were going to go see Alfred at the field house and we wanted to know if you would like to join us?" Arthur said, the passionate, competitive flame in his sharp, green eyes had softened as the game drew to a close.

Ivan was taken slightly aback. Why would he be invited? It wasn't like he was one of Alfred's peers! It wasn't like he had even _liked_ the boy until recently.

"What Arthur means," Francis began, "Is that he seems to look up to you and told us you would be at the game and that if we say you to tell you 'hello' for him. But we assumed you could say it in person since you're here. I understand if you're tired." Francis concluded.

If Ivan didn't know any better, he could have sworn he heard the implication that Francis thought Ivan was out past his bedtime. That would not do.

"I would love to accompany you." Ivan replied coolly in a 'challenge accepted' manner.

"Excellent! Come with us, mon ami!" Francis chimed, and led the way, practically dragging poor Arthur (who was probably more ready for bed than Ivan, judging by his sudden change from snippy to cranky.) by the hand.

When they got to the field house, Alfred was already waiting, bag in hand at the entrance for them. He made his way over to them, a lazy grin on his face as he did so. Said grin only expanded when he caught sight of his 6'3" English teacher.

"Hey Uncle Francis, Arthur." He wrapped his arms around the two warmly. He basked in the praise he received for a 'job well done' and then turned his attention to Ivan as Arthur loaded his bags into the car.

"You actually came! And you met Francis and Arthur!" He said with a wide, sleepy grin.

Ivan nodded, "Da. I told you I would." he said simply.

Alfred chuckled, a slightly husky, pleasing sound.

"Alfred!"

The boy blanched slightly, his smile dropped, and his eyes widened a bit at the sound of his voice being called out by voice Ivan didn't recognize. A man, only a few inches taller than Alfred approached, a stern look set on his face. As he got closer, Ivan realized the resemblance he and and Alfred was striking. They had the same build and facial structure. Only instead of blue eyes, this man had deep brown eyes that weren't anywhere as friendly as Alfred's.

"Hey Dad..." Alfred muttered as the man clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"You're coming home with me," He said sternly, casting a glare at Francis and Arthur.

The feral, sharpness returned into Arthur's emerald eyes as he locked eyes with the man.

"Not even a 'hello?' Really Sam?" Arthur sneered, taking a step forward.

Alfred's father (Sam) went to reply, but Ivan cleared his throat. Sam turned to face the offender, and his eyes widened when his eyes landed on Ivan.

"You must be Alfred's father. I am one of his teachers, Ivan Braginski. It is a pleasure, da?" Ivan stated, his empty smile in place. He didn't like this man. Not one bit.

Sam nodded, clearly taken off guard by Ivan's presence. He muttered a hello, then grabbed Alfred's wrist and bag.

"Come on, boy." He growled.

"We agreed Alfred was staying with us for the weekend, Sam. Remember?" Francis said, a hard look was in his eyes and it seemed out of place.

Sam narrowed his eyes, but they flickered to Ivan who had taken a step towards him. His eyes slightly widened, and he stepped away from Alfred begrudgingly, muttering a barely audible, "Fine" before he stalked off to a truck that wasn't too far away. None of them moved until the truck was out of sight. None of them spoke.

Ivan looked at Alfred who looked pale. Alfred looked over at Ivan when he felt his gaze on him and he directly avoided eye contact.

"Night, Mr. B." he said quickly, climbing into the car, nearly slamming the door in an effort to distance himself from the awkwardness of the delicate situation.

Francis nodded to Ivan approvingly, bid him a goodnight as well, and got in the passenger's seat. Arthur looked at Ivan and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. Sam is... rather possessive when it comes to Alfred." Arthur said, running a hand through his hair.

Ivan nodded numbly.

"Goodnight, Ivan. Please, do keep in touch." Arthur said, warmly extending his hand.

Ivan accepted the gesture and looked with sympathetic towards the car where he knew Alfred sat.

"Do not hesitate to call if I can do anything." Ivan said in all seriousness.

"I'll keep that in mind..." Arthur replied, getting into his spot in the driver's seat.

Ivan stood alone in the parking lot of a few minutes in a daze before he began the trek to his own vehicle. He knew he was numb about it now, but he knew that if he were to dwell on what had just happened it would lead to memories that he had worked so hard to repress. He would get angry about it later. As for now, his focus was getting home without flying into a fury. However as much as Ivan tried his best to bottle his anger, he knew one thing, and that was that Sam was afraid of him (with good reason to be) and Ivan would be damned if he didn't use this to his advantage. Something in the back of his mind knew that he and Sam would meet again...

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>

OHMYGOSH. Done! Finally! It's almost midnight (on a school night. Who's a badass who loves her readers? THIS GIRL, RIGHT HERE!) BAHAHAHAHA!

I apologize if Francis and Arthur weren't done quite right. This is my first time seriously trying to write them, but I had so much fun with them! Also, I know some will also disagree with Arthur not being the uncle, but in my opinion, France looks more like America and Canada than Britain. Hell, Finland looks more like America with the sweet face than Britain. Oh well, let him live his little fantasy. :P

I'm also pleased with this chapter! (4, 820 words! I'm getting there people!) I felt it was necessary to give you a snapshot of Sam also.

One last thing: The last chapter got 8 reviews. I know that doesn't seem like much, but every review counts. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. You know who you are~! ;D


	7. Chapter 7

_Let's do a bit of a switch up, shall we? I'm going to do a little experimenting with different P.O.V's, but this shift shouldn't happen too often. I would like for the development of Ivan and Alfred's "relationship" be seen from both sides of the spectrum. Thank you for reading. Oh, and even though it will be their point of view, it will still be in third person as I like to write in the "NARRATOR KNOWS ALL" style. I think it's called "ominous". Oh well, read on~ _

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><p><em><span>Alfred's Point of <span>__View_

Not a word had been said in the car. Arthur's hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had a white tinge to them. At some point, Francis had comfortingly placed his hand on Arthur's leg. Arthur could feel the solemn calm pass through Francis, and it helped somewhat.

Alfred, however, simply stared out the window. He felt nauseous and Arthur's angry driving wasn't helping. On top of the mental strain, his body was exhausted from the game. His muscles ached and all he wanted was a hot, steamy shower and his soft, cotton pajama pants. He also wanted the weekend to go by slowly. He never wanted to face Sunday evening when Sam would pick him up. The thought of being alone with Sam after he had been humiliated sent a shuddered up Alfred's spine and he inwardly cringed. Then Alfred's thoughts took a different turn and he thought of the humiliator: Mr. Braginski.

He had stood up to Sam the way Alfred had always wanted to. When Mr. Braginski had confronted Sam, it wasn't like when Francis tried to fight back, but ended up relying on a very over-protective Arthur who would rant and rave. No. When Mr. Braginski stood up to Sam he was cool and collected. Every fiber of his being radiated confidence and self-assurance. Mr. Braginski didn't get angry, but rather he got cold and aloof, as if he was superior to the situation and nothing you could say or do would bring you victory: he was like a figure from the spy comics hidden in a box in Alfred's closet.

When they got home, Alfred dashed up the stairs and into the bathroom. He could finally have his shower. Alfred let the near-scalding water cascade down his head, shoulders, and spine. He rolled his shoulders and neck, waiting for the satisfying "pop" sound. He felt his joints pop and he sighed, feeling a little better all ready. He turned on his shower radio and was pleased one of his favorite songs was pumping through the speakers. The bass line thrummed pleasantly and Alfred found himself lost in the music soon enough; he was eager to escape himself for a few minutes and he didn't see the harm.

He worked his shampoo into his thick blonde tresses to the beat of the song. Alfred couldn't help but let his hips move a little bit as he did so. He wasn't worried about someone walking in on him as he had locked the door, so why not enjoy the privacy? As he internalized the beat, he let his hips swivel. Alfred had always been a good dancer, but he never got the chance to demonstrate that ability (He had always wanted to take a dance class, much to Francis' glee, but Sam said dancing was for girls and Alfred never questioned Sam). As he rinsed out his shampoo, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. It was a dark for a moment and it was just Alfred, his thoughts, and the music. He had never assumed it was a dangerously sinful combination until certain images made their way across the insides of his eyelids. Certain images of a certain English teacher. A certain Russian English teacher. Thoughts of a certain Mr. Braginski. Alfred's thoughts seemed to orbit around the man. Alfred suddenly wondered if he danced, and he wished he hand't (yet he knew at the same time he didn't mind, as wrong as he knew it should be). In his mind, Mr. Braginski did, though. In Alfred's mind's eye, Mr. B was quite the dancer indeed. Alfred imagined the man moving his hips effortlessly to the beat of Alfred's music. Alfred felt his hand slowly make it's way from his hair, fingertips ghosting over his neck, down his chest, over his stomach...

His eyes shot open. What the hell was he doing?

Quickly, Alfred shut off the radio and the shower. He grabbed his towel and hurriedly dried off and put on his sleep clothes. The time of the beating of his heart was racing and his thoughts were whirling. Did he really almost...? Was he...? No! He couldn't be... Sure his uncle was, but it wasn't really genetic... _was __it_? Alfred felt sick. He felt trapped in his own body; his filthy, lustful, _awful _body. Alfred also felt trapped in his mind. How could he think of something so utterly _wrong?_ Sure he had had these passing impulses before, but he always assumed if he ignored them, they'd go away.

This method had worked well until he had met Mr. Braginski, however. Alfred knew something was not right with him as soon as he heard his teacher's smooth, thick accent. The accent sent shudders down his spine and he would do anything to get the other to say his name, to speak to him, to look at him with those exotic, lavender eyes. _Anything._ That was ultimately why he had ended up agreeing to tutoring. He could care less about his grades. He was going to play football for a living anyway; he wasn't smart enough to be anything else. Sure football was another important reason he would admit (he would never be able to go pro if he didn't even finish his high school program), but the thought of being alone with Mr. Braginski and having the older man all to himself was far too tempting to pass up.

Yes, Alfred was perfectly content with the tutoring so long as he was with Mr. Braginski... He just couldn't let Sam find out. Not that he was worried Sam would; as long as he performed well in sports and didn't act like he better enjoyed Francis and Arthur's company more than his, Sam really didn't give a shit about Alfred. He accepted this fact, but with his new dilemma (a.k.a his questionable sexual orientation), he fully embraced Sam's neglectful nature.

Alfred was shaken from his thoughts when he heard a soft knock on his door.

"Alfred?" Francis called softly from the other side.

Alfred wasted no time opening the door. No matter how disturbed Alfred believed he was, Francis was always there. Alfred's uncle smiled softly in greeting, his eyes soft and sympathetic, but not pitying.

"May I come in?" Francis asked, even though he knew what the answer would be.

Alfred nodded and moved to the side, allowing the older man entry. Francis went over to the bed and slowly sat down, then gently patted the spot beside him, silently coaxing his nephew to sit. Alfred did as was implied and the two sat together in comfortable silence for a few moments.

"I'm not going to ask if you want to talk, because I know you probably do not, but I do want to make sure you are alright, mon cher." Francis said, his voice was warm and his accent thickened on the pet name.

Alfred gave his uncle a soft, reassuring smile, "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks Uncle Francis," He replied.

Francis nodded and closed his eyes. Alfred couldn't help but notice how tired he looked and Alfred knew that he probably wanted to go to bed, where Alfred was sure Arthur already lay.

"That is good to hear. Are you sure there is nothing that is troubling you?" Francis asked again, his light blue eyes looked onto Alfred in a way that assured Alfred he was ready to listen.

Alfred wanted to tell him everything was a-okay, that nothing was wrong and that he could go to bed, but he didn't. Alfred was fully aware that his uncle knew better. That was something he had learned about Francis and Arthur; they cared enough to look past his smiles and really try to see what was going through his mind. It was like they had this way of _knowing_, something akin to a sixth sense, that allowed them the ability to know when something was out of sorts with their (yes,_ their_) nephew. Alfred felt Francis' soft hand gently encase his.

"I'm here if you need me," Francis urged kindly, giving Alfred's hand a light squeeze.

Alfred knew he had to talk to Francis. He could trust his uncle and he felt if he didn't say what was on his mind, he might possibly burst.

"Well, I... There's this..." Alfred coughed and cleared his throat and rubbed the bad of his neck, "_person _at school and I think I might, I don't know, like them or something, but I'm pretty sure they aren't that into me." He began, carefully excluding all pronouns.

Francis chuckled suggestively. "Oh is that so? Is it juene amour?" He chuckled.

Alfred didn't know much French, but he did recognize _amour, _and a pink blush dusted his cheeks.

"No! Well, kinda, but.. you see, _the person _might not return my feelings. I mean, I'm almost positive they don't..." Alfred trailed off.

Francis rubbed his chin in thought, his eyes closed in contemplation, and a small smirk was settled on his lips. He then looked at Alfred with sparkling eyes and asked, "how do you they do not return your feelings? Did they say so with out a blush? Because you know Arthur says he does not like me but we _all know he loves me! Ohononon..._" Francis chuckled.

Alfred shuddered and decided it was best to press on with the subject before Francis began describing just how much Arthur loved him, "Well, I haven't told h-er-_ them_ yet. I don't know what to say..." Alfred said.

Francis' smile grew and he took Alfred's face in his hands and spoke excitedly, "You must tell them! Love is not without risks, mon petite neveu!" He then let go and stood up, dramatically placing his hands over his heart, "you must woo and charm them~"

"How do I that?" Alfred asked, suddenly worried.

"As cliche as it sounds, be yourself. Learn their humor, make them laugh and smile. Compliment them, flatter them. Then, as the relationship progresses, make them feel good by..."

"Okay, Uncle! I think I understand now!" Alfred interrupted before Francis could get carried away.

Francis chuckled, clearly pleased with his expertise, "I'm glad" He said before yawned and made his way towards the door, "Bonsoir, Alfred." Francis said with a wink, quietly shutting the door.

"Bonsoir, Papa..." Alfred whispered, only saying it once he was sure Francis was out of ear shot. Alfred then crawled into bed, certain he would have dreams of wooing a certain "_ person_."

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><p>Francis was still chuckling softly as he made his way into his and Arthur's bedroom. Arthur sat on the foot of the bed with arms crossed over his chest and one leg was over the other. His green eyes were still blazing with a cold rage, though they weren't near as angry as they had been in the car.<p>

"So how is he, frog?" Arthur hissed.

Francis gave Arthur a soft, reassuring smile and reached over to move the Brit's bangs so he could plant a kiss on Arthur's forehead.

"He is fine, mon amour. Maybe a little more so, _ohonon~_" Francis chuckled, rooting himself beside his husband.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Arthur snapped. Honestly, why did the frog feel the need to beat around the bush?

"Alfred has a little crush." Francis said with a wink.

"A _what?_ On who? I demand to know the wench's name!" Arthur said, the anger quickly transforming into shock and curiosity in those emerald eyes.

"Oh I'm not so sure it's a wench, if you know what I mean..." Francis said with a lewd smirk.

Arthur's eyes widened more until Francis thought that they would pop out of Arthur's head.

"He's...?"

"Oui."

"Are you sure? This isn't something to be taken lightly, frog! Especially with Sam on a rampage-"

Francis cut his husband off, "I am sure, Arthur. I know these things. Besides, he's a lot like you." Francis said, gently leaning in to nip Arthur's ear.

A deep blush spread across Arthur's face. Oh Arthur was well aware that Francis knew about those kinds of things. Arthur swore up and down he was as straight as a board until Francis came along and seduced him. Francis knew what Arthur was thinking about and took the opportunity to pull himself into Arthur's lap, immediately getting a desirable result as the Brit's body heated up.

"Let us relive the night you discovered you had different tastes, shall we?" Francis said, licking his lips.

Arthur briefly looked surprised before his eyes narrowed and clouded over in lust.

"You read my mind..."

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><p>Ivan had taken a detour home. Long drives always helped steady his nerves. Ivan had always loved long car rides when he was young and it was something he had never grown out of. The soft percussive music gently pumped through his car's speakers and his driving grew less aggressive as he allowed his thoughts to settle.<p>

It was none of his business. The Jones family's issues were none of his concern. Period.

No, not period. Ivan was concerned no matter how many times he told himself he wasn't. He could keenly recall the look on Alfred's face as his father approached; all color in the boy's skin drained away and his eyes widened. In fact, the more Ivan thought about it, the more he recalled an unidentified emotion coursing through those big, blue eyes every time Sam was mentioned. It shouldn't be any of his concern.

Ivan drove his car into the garage of his home and went inside. He helped himself to some tea, knowing he wouldn't get much sleep despite how exhausted he felt. He gingerly sipped his tea, savoring how the warmth spread through his body. No wonder some people claimed tea was good for the soul.

Shortly after Ivan finished his tea, he made his way up to his bedroom and changed into his night clothes. He got into bed, but he lay in bed looking at the ceiling. Why couldn't he stop thinking about Alfred lately? He had hated him only _days _ago! But now he was the only thing Ivan could think about! Even if Ivan wasn't thinking directly about Alfred, something would remind him of the boy. There was no way this was healthy.

_Maybe obsessive behavior runs in the family..._Ivan thought, his mind drifting to thoughts of his younger sister. He cringed. Ivan hoped he didn't turn out like she had, lest he go ahead and check himself into the asylum where his poor, delusional sister was... Ivan blinked rapidly as the corners of his eyes pricked. There was no need for tears. She would get help. She would get better. Ivan exhaled sharply and snuggled deeper under the covers as sleep had finally begun to settle on him, making his eyelids heavy. Ivan happily welcomed the embrace of sleep, even though he worried Alfred might find his way into his dreams, too...

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><p><span>Author's Notes<span>

LAME FILLER CHAPTER IS LAME!

I'm so sorry that this chapter wasn't very good and was ungodly short. I've been on such a roll and I finally hit the wall. I'm so sorry. I'm not happy with this chapter at all. Bleh.

Anyways, I got some comments on Sam. Sam is an OC. I know, I know. We all hate OC's, But since Arthur was the only other choice for Alfred's Dad, I couldn't have that and wah-lah.

Also, there is a reason Alfred called Francis "Papa." That will be in later chapters which will hopefully be better than this one.

**Thank you to all of my reviewers out there. The last chapter got 12 reviews and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Even if I don't reply to all of them, I still take your opinion into consideration. Thank you so much for reading. **

~Germerica


	8. Chapter 8

_I know last chapter was short so I'll try to make it up to you in this chapter. I suggest listening to Lights by Ellie Goulding, Reflection from Disney's Mulan, Set Fire to the Rain by Adele, A Thousand Years By Chirstina Perri, or OAH by Alexander Rybak. The latter two are kind of the theme songs for this story, so I suggest you become familiar with at least one of them. ;)  
>Thank you for your patience.<em>

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><p>It was almost midnight.<p>

Alfred stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom. He was gazing intently at his reflection and he was taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself. The Alfred in the mirror stared back, his lip was swollen, but at least it was no longer bleeding. Tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes, but Alfred refused to let them fall in an attempt to reserve what sliver of pride he had left. Alfred knew he couldn't (or _shouldn't_) live like this; yet he did. He would have called Francis or Arthur had his phone not been confiscated. He would have driven to his uncles' home had his keys not been taken as well. He was trapped in this awful house with his unstable "father."

Alfred sighed in defeat as he reflected on the events of a few hours ago...

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><p>"Alfred!" Arthur called from down the hall as he buttoned up his nice, crisp, white shirt, "you have 10 minutes to be dressed and presentable!"<p>

"okay, okay, okay!" Alfred shout back, hopping on one leg trying to slip into his nice, khaki pants.

It wasn't often that Alfred yielded to Arthur's taste in fine clothing and dining (he'd much rather be in a cozy pair of blue jeans and a cotton t-shirt chowing down on some McDonald's), but tonight was a special occasion, and so, for once, he complied without a fight. When asked why, he simply shrugged, then turned on his heal to run up the stairs to get ready.

But deep in his heart he knew why he had agreed so willingly.

They were having a nice dinner and Mr. Braginski had been invited. Alfred wasn't sure, but Francis said something about thanking him for taking an interest in Alfred's grades or whatever. The reason didn't matter; what mattered was that Alfred needed to look _good. _He had dug through all the dress shirts he owned (all of which were purchased by Arthur in hopes that Alfred might one day abandon his desire to "dress like a Chav," whatever that meant...) and finally decided on a pale blue one and grabbed a pair of khakis and a pair of new dress shoes (once again, a purchase courtesy of Arthur).

Though he hated to admit it, Arthur had been right. When he decided to dress up, Alfred didn't look half bad. The shirt accented his broad chest and made his blue eyes more noticeable. As he examined himself in the full length mirror and couldn't help wondering if this was a normal thing for girls. He shook the thought from his head because Alfred F. Jones was no girl, and he made his way to the bathroom. He expertly worked the gel into his hair, making sure that no strands stood up besides his cowlick. It was part of his look after all! He then shaved and migrated to Francis and Arthur's bathroom to borrow some aftershave and cologne.

When he walked through the door, Francis (who was dressed in fine black slacks and a dark blue dress shirt) was sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing his stubbled chin as Arthur stood in front of him with two different ties; one was a deep, forest green and the other was a crimson red with stripes.

"Just pick one, frog!" Arthur snarled.

"Oh do not be like that. If it was such and easy decision then you could do it yourself." Francis chuckled.

"Just shut up and pick, wanker!" Arthur snapped.

"Green!" Alfred called as he passed through.

Arthur looked at the the green tie and stuck his nose up at Francis, "Why _thank you _Alfred! See Francis? That wasn't so hard."

Francis got up from the bed and strode over to Arthur to peck him on the lips, but not before rolling his eyes.

After Arthur loaned a tie to Alfred and showed him how to tie it, they all went out to the car. Alfred hopped in the back seat and watched as Arthur opened the door for Francis, who smiled and thanked him.

That was one thing Alfred secretly admired about Arthur; he was a gentleman. Arthur was elegant, refined, sophisticated, and confident. He was everything Alfred wanted to be but wasn't. He had admitted this to Arthur once, on accident of course. It had been when Alfred's father had first made them move to the tiny rural town and Alfred had been left home with Arthur while Francis went grocery shopping. It had been awkward at first, seeing as how Alfred shared his father's opinion of his uncle's _preferences_, but that faded as Alfred slowly realized Arthur was just like any other person. They began speaking and Alfred let his insecurity slip when he became flustered with Arthur's dry wit and self-confident composer. However, instead of things becoming more awkward, Arthur seamlessly smoothed out the tension by comforting Alfred.

"Though I doubt I'm qualified to give you the 'be yourself' chat," Arthur had begun, "I'll let you in on a little secret... If you have nothing else going for you, remember that there is only _one _of you and _that _is what makes you unique." He said, leveling his emerald eyes on Alfred.

"Besides, if everyone was like me, it would be dull. Much more efficient, but dull none the less." Arthur added as an afterthought, giving Alfred a small sideways smile.

Alfred had decided he liked Arthur from that moment on and that maybe Sam didn't know everything.

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><p>When Ivan arrived at the restaurant, he felt a strange nervousness settle in the pit of his stomach. To say he was shocked when Francis had called him over the telephone to ask him to a nice dinner as a special "thank you" would be accurate, if not a mild understatement. Ivan wasn't sure at first, but Francis had insisted, even offering to pay for Ivan's meal. Ivan had assured him that was not necessary, and tried to refuse again. He barely knew these people and they wanted to pay for his meal at a fancy restaurant? The paranoid part of his mind told him it was a trick, yet Francis was persistent in a passive, mild way and in the end had won (It was clear where Alfred got his persistence; he certainly came by it honestly). Ivan finally agreed to attend the dinner, much to Francis' delight. Besides, Ivan reasoned, what would it hurt if one meal was paid for? He'd make sure to get the tip, though.<p>

Ivan wished he had a mirror to make sure he looked presentable and he hoped he wasn't under-dressed. He had chosen to wear a pair of black slacks, a lavender button-up collared shirt and a black lightweight blazer. He told himself he was being paranoid, but he had to see what the others were wearing to be sure. Why was he so nervous, anyways?

Ivan straightened his collar and made his way towards the restaurant. He had never been to this establishment before and hoped it wasn't as ritzy as it seemed. He glanced at the other patrons, and to his relief, saw that they had were all similarly dressed in his semi-formal attire. Once comfortable with his attire, Ivan made his way over to a waiter who stood behind a podium.

The man looked up at Ivan, and his golden-yellow eyes widened at the other's height (Ivan was a good head-and-a-half taller than the man).

"Welcome to Grandpa Rome's, what do you want?" He said with a thick Italian accent.

"Da-erm-yes," Ivan corrected, "I'm here for the Kirkland party." Ivan stated.

The man looked down and ran his finger down the reservations list.

"Yeah yeah... They're here. Follow me..." He stated grumpily and Ivan could have sworn he heard the man mutter "bastard" under his breath.

Ivan followed the short waiter for a short ways, the odd curl on the side of his head bounced along as he walked.

"Here's your table." The angry little Italian said, gesturing to a candlelit table that was already seating three people.

When Ivan turned to thank him, the man was already gone. _How rude. _Ivan thought. However, he didn't have time to ponder on it for long before the family he was accompanying greeted him.

"Bonjour, Ivan! I'm so glad you could make it!" Francis beamed.

Arthur extended his hand and smiled, and Ivan accepted,"It is good to see you again as well." Ivan replied politely.

Alfred was uncharacteristically silent as he sipped at his Coca-Cola, his eyes trained on the Russian across the table. Ivan felt as if those blue eyes were boring into his soul... However, he luckily did not have too much time to think on Alfred's strange behavior because another waiter came bouncing up to their table.

He was a rather short man with reddish-brown hair and an odd curl that protruded from the side of his head and his careless expression gave Ivan the impression that he was most likely a very laid-back individual. Though it was strange how similar he was in appearance to the rude waiter who showed Ivan to the table. Ivan considered a relation, but decided it wasn't important enough to dwell on.

"Buonasera!" The cheery Italian greeted happily, "I'm Felinciano and I'mma be your host tonight! Ve~? Oh! Hiya Francis!" The little man exclaimed happily.

Francis chuckled and responded, "Hello, Feli. It is lovely to see you. How are you?"

The Italian man beamed, "Oh it's just great, Francis! Well, except Romano has been in a really bad mood... But he's always cranky! He thinks he's being stalked or something. I don't know the guy's name but he's new in town and he bumped into Romano at the grocery store or something! Isn't that funny? OH! I remember why I came to this table! Can I take your order? The special tonight is Grandpa's fresh chicken Alfredo!"

Ivan felt his eye twitch. Were all the waiters here crazy? He made a note to never return to this establishment (at least not without a healthy dosage of Valium).

"That sounds lovely, Feli." Francis replied.

"I'll have that as well." Arthur said politely.

"Can I have the pizza? Oh! And some of those awesome bread sticks?" Alfred asked.

"Ci! I'd be happy to get those for you! And what would you like sir?" he asked, turning to Ivan.

Ivan suppressed his irritation with the man's ditziness and politely requested the chicken Alfredo.

Felinciano happily recited the orders and then skipped off to the kitchen, leaving the party to themselves.

"So, are you close with owners? That waiter seemed to know you." Ivan asked once the peppy waiter was out of ear shot.

Francis, eager to strike up conversation (and talk about himself), lit up at the question.

"Oh, Oui," He said, with a slight wave of the hand as if it was nothing, "Years ago when I was in my younger years, I was an exchange student in Italy and the Vargas family was my host family."

"Ah. So how long were you in Italy?" Ivan pried. He wasn't exactly totally invested in this conversation, but Ivan couldn't stand awkward silences and if he didn't keep one of them talking, silence would ultimately be the result.

However, no one noticed as everyone else was involved in Francis' story.

"Oh Italy... I was only there for a semester, but what a wonderful, culturally rich experience! Sure it wasn't France, but it was almost like home! And the Vargas family took such good care of me! They loved me so much they even came to visit me when I moved to America. However, just like me, Grandpa fell in love with the beautiful little town and decided to move here."

Ivan nodded politely, urging someone to continue so he wouldn't have to. This dinner was going to take longer and be more painful than Ivan thought...

"FRANCIS! IL MIO TRESORO!" Came a booming voice that was thick with an Italian accent.

A man who wasn't much taller than Alfred came bouncing out from the kitchen and straight over to their table. He was an older man, though he held certain youthful appearances such as being very physically fit and his hair (the same reddish-brown as the previous waiter's) had yet to gray, though some of the whisker's in his beard had. He beamed at them with a wide, white grin and the corners of his eyes revealed years of laugh lines and slight crows feet.

"Oh Francis I'm so glad to see you! You don't visit enough!" The man said, a pout on his face. Normally, Ivan would be embarrassed that a man that age was acting so childishly, yet it seemed to sync effortlessly with his personality and strangely enough didn't annoy Ivan... much.

"I'm sorry, grand-père" Francis said sheepishly.

The man smiled warmly and gave Francis' hair a slight tussle. He then looked to Arthur and gave him a warm greeting and a hug, which Arthur reluctantly accepted in an effort to be polite. Alfred however stood up and let the man give him a full embrace, the boy grinning from ear-to-ear the whole time.

"Hi, Grandpa!" he exclaimed, giving the elder man a loving squeeze.

Grandpa Vargas gave a lighthearted laugh and took a step back, "lemme geta good look at you!" He said, a contemplative looked set on his face as he examined Alfred, who rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and modeled.

Grandpa sighed, "I'mma have to-a put a brick on your head to stop you from-a growing..."

Alfred grinned, pride shining in his eyes. Ivan looked over to Arthur and Francis who were also grinning at the two and he suddenly felt a clenching in his stomach. His smile twitched as he realized he might as well be intruding on their moment as he sat there awkwardly. He gulped as he debated whether to quietly excuse himself to go to the bathroom until the moment passed or simply stay put and hope they didn't find him intrusive. Though they shouldn't! They invited him, didn't they? But still... Ivan tentatively sipped at his water. When he looked up front his sip, green eyes were peering back. Arthur gave him a reassuring smile and gently tapped Francis on the shoulder.

"Aren't you being rude, you two? You've yet to introduce our guest." He said coolly.

"Oh mon Dieu!" Francis exclaimed, his eyes going wide and apologetic, "Grandpa, this is Mr. Ivan Braginski! He is Alfred's English teacher." Francis said, giving Ivan his much needed introduction.

Ivan nodded politely and forced a smile. He was good at pretending he was friendly from the years of conditioning to be a public figure from his own grandfather, however this Italian man was nothing like his elder. He was much warmer, much more sincere. The sincerity was apparent when his mouth turned down even further at Ivan's faux-smile; his golden-brown eyes were slightly watery. Ivan faltered. This man saw right through him. This man _knew _Ivan was hurt (though Ivan wasn't sure why he was upset in the first place. Why should he care that Alfred's family had forgotten he was there... that Alfred forgot he was there...).

"Vi prego di perdonarmi, Ivan. I'm so sorry I didn't notice you! Especially since Alfred has told me so much about you!" He said, his voice had a slight waver to it.

Before Ivan could say anything, he felt strong arms encircle him, pinning his arms to his sides. The Russian's eyes widened in shock as he realized that this crazy, old, Italian man was _hugging him. _Unused to the close contact Ivan had to suppress the urgent need to shove the other away. This was an incredible invasion of Ivan's personal space! Wait...had he also said Alfred had mentioned him before? As soon as that thought crossed his mind and as quick as the man had closed the distance between them, the embrace of broken and he stepped back.

"I hope you aren't too offended! I can be a little spacey, sometimes!" he chuckled, "One of the only negative family traits." He concluded with a wink. He then told them that he needed to help the others in the kitchen, kissed the family on the heads (Arthur narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but allowed it) and made his way back to the kitchen.

Alfred turned and beamed at Ivan, "Isn't he awesome?" He asked Ivan excitedly.

"Da... something like that..." Ivan muttered quietly, his cheeks still a dark pink from the unwanted hug.

However, Alfred didn't seem to interpret Ivan's humiliation and continued to chatter on about whatever was on his mind at that moment.

..._..._..._..._..._..._..._...

Ivan had never tasted such amazing food in his life. It was as if the heavens had showered angle dust upon the food to make it taste other worldly. Normally, Ivan could find a flaw in anything, yet his dish was _perfect. _Any hard feelings that remained between he and Grandpa Vargas quickly vanished after just one bite of the meal. Ivan was pretty sure he would need to get drug tested for cocaine after the last bite; that was just how wonderful it was.

The angrier Italian (who turned out to be Felienciano's twin, Romano, or the poor Italian who was apparently being stalked) came along not long after the group had finished their meal and collected their plates, muttering the whole time about how something wasn't fair along with a string of curses and insults that usually preceded his brother's name. Once the table was clean, Arthur paid the tab. Ivan reached for his wallet to pay the tab, but Francis had already set some a few green bills, sending a wink to Ivan as he did so.

They began to make their way from the restaurant, but Ivan slowed and let them walk away. He casually made his way back to the table and laid down his own tip; the service, though it gave him a bad first impression, deserved it. As he went to walk away, he heard a warm and friendly voice.

"Grazie, Mr. Braginski~"

Ivan spun around to see Grandpa Vargas, smiling warmly at him. He strolled over to the Russian man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Do not grow up-a to fast, Ivan..." he said, softly, his chocolate eyes were as soft as his voice and just as warm, "you are-a still young and I believe you forget that from-a time to time, no?"

Ivan looked down at the Italian man. His eyes held wisdom, but his words did not make sense. Ivan _was _grown. He was twenty-eight years old and had been living on his own since he was twenty. He didn't even live in the same country as his family! Yet the gaze in Grandpa Vargas' eyes kept Ivan still, as if he kept looking into enigmatic irises the answers to his pondering would be revealed.

"Do not think to hard on it, piccolo. One day it'll all make-a sense." He said with a wink.

He removed his hand from Ivan's shoulder and placed his hands in his pockets, carelessly whistling an old tune that was unfamiliar to Ivan as he strolled back towards the kitchen. Ivan watched him go, then quickly made his way to the parking lot.

"There you are dude!" Came Alfred's familiar voice, "You just kinda vanished."

Ivan gave a slight shrug as Alfred's uncles approached them, "My apologies. I thought I had misplaced my phone." Ivan lied smoothly. A small fib would not hurt, right?

They all seemed to understand and didn't bother asking questions. They bid their goodbyes and Ivan thanked them for the lovely meal and insisted that he return the favor for them soon. They politely agreed and made their way to their respective vehicles. As Ivan was making his way to this car, he noticed Alfred climbing into the driver's seat of a white, Chevrolet truck whereas Francis and Arthur got into the car Ivan recognized from Friday night. It took only a few seconds to make the connection... Alfred wasn't going back to his uncles' but to Sam's. Ivan felt his stomach churn and guiltily shut his car door. He hoped Alfred would be alright...

* * *

><p>Alfred pulled up to the car port of Sam's house, put his truck in park, and got out of the car. He looked at the house and sighed. From the outside, it seemed like a perfectly normal house; white paint only slightly chipped in some places, a nice wide front porch, a well kept yard, and the signs that a child was raised there once upon a time.<p>

The inside story was not as bright. Alfred grew up under his father's hand and ideals. As the boy grew, he began to think differently from his father and that simply would not do. Normally, Sam would not strike his son because he never had to. Alfred wasn't too bright (at least in Sam's opinion), but he knew that he couldn't win against Sam.

Alfred made his way into the garage and his frown deepened when he saw Sam's car. That meant Sam was inside and judging by the time, Sam had most likely gone through a few beers by now. Not good. Alfred crept into the house, hyper-aware of his surroundings. He slowly maneuvered down the hall until only obstacle was between him and the stairs that led to the safety of his room: the kitchen where Sam was undoubtedly sitting at the table with a beer in hand.

Alfred took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth. He was overreacting. All he had to do was walk from his current spot to the stairs. Here to there. Point A to Point B. It was simple. He was just making this difficult. If Sam was angry, Alfred would have heard him shuffling around. _Dad might already be asleep, _Alfred said to himself as he began to slowly creep towards the stairs. He had one foot on the first step when he heard someone clear their throat.

"Goin' somewhere so soon?"

Alfred froze. _So much for Dad being asleep..._ Alfred thought glumly as he slowly turned to face his father.

Sam was leaning against the door jamb with a half-empty beer bottle in his hand. His face was a little ruddy and his wheat blonde hair was in his face. Alfred hated being right...

"Um.. Hey Dad," Alfred began, slowly moving up the stairs. If he could just get to his room...

"Son. Come into the kitchen with me." Sam slurred, moving his hand in a beckoning motion.

Alfred gulped but did as he was told. He walked towards the kitchen behind his father, glancing over his should towards the stairs longing every few seconds. His father pointed to the kitchen table.

"Sit." He commanded.

Nervously, Alfred sat, unsure where this one-sided conversation was going. Sam crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and pulled out two beers, then went to the table and sat across from his son.

"Have a beer with me, boy." He ordered, handing Alfred the bottle after he popped the cap off.

"Dad, I can't..." Alfred began, but Sam scoffed.

"You're almost eighteen. One beer won't kill you, Al." He said, popping the top off his own beer.

Alfred did as he was told, taking a swig of the fizzy, frothy beverage. Beer made Alfred nervous. It wasn't that he didn't like the taste of it, quite the opposite. In fact, Alfred loved a good brew and even had preferences. Yet he had grown up under his father's love for the drink and in his mind beer was not a good thing. It was a trap. However, he was more afraid of a drunken Sam than he was of becoming intoxicated himself.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes and the only thing that could be heard was the ticking of a clock and the swishing of the beer in the bottle. Alfred wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he knew he was getting low on beer and so was Sam. Sam noticed and spoke.

"Want another one?" He asked.

He frowned when Alfred shook his head.

"What's wrong, kid? You a lightweight like that damn Brit?" Sam slurred with a smirk.

Alfred felt his hands curl into fists. He stood up and made his way towards the door. He wasn't in the mood to hear Sam's rag on his uncles.

"Oh don't be so sensitive, Al! You're really going to get upset over that? Come back. Have another drink." Sam said.

Alfred stopped, and with his back to Sam he spoke, "No."

"No?" Sam asked in surprise.

"_No. _I don't want another drink. I want to go to bed." Alfred said, trying to keep the waver out of his voice.

Sam scoffed and leaned back in his seat, "I knew I shouldn't of let you spend so much time with those fags. Turned you into a total puss..." He muttered.

Sam went to tip his bottle back to take a swig when the bottle was swiftly yanked from his fingers. Alfred, with the bottle in hand, stormed over to the sink and with one defiant glare, emptied the contents into the drain. Sam stood up slowly with a dark expression etched into his face.

Alfred's lower lip and hands were trembling, but he stood firm.

"You've had enough," He said, sounding a lot braver than he felt.

A sharp sting resounded in Alfred's cheek when he felt Sam's palm connect to his face. Alfred's hand flew to his face and he dropped the bottle. The shatter of glass rang throughout the house. Alfred instinctively tried to protect himself but to no avail. Even when drunk, Sam was stronger. He shoved the younger man down onto the floor, causing the glass to make an eerie sound as it scraped across the floor under Alfred's body. Alfred hissed in pain when he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his hands and back and he realized that he had cut himself on the glass. He hurriedly attempted to flee, but pain exploded in his lip when Sam's foot connected with Alfred's mouth, causing an iron taste to flow over the boy's tongue.

Alfred held his throbbing mouth with his bloody hands as Sam stood over him.

"Maybe you have a spine after all..." he muttered before jerking Alfred to his feet.

He drug Alfred along by his (now ruined) shirt collar to the master bath and roughly sat him down on the lidded toilet. Sam dug around through the medicine cabinet until he came across the first aid kit.

"Sit still." He snapped, making Alfred cringe and nod.

He patched up Alfred, slapping a band aid on here and there, and he made Alfred hold a towel to his lip to get the blood to stop. Once Alfred's lip and hands had stopped bleeding, Sam began putting away the kit.

"Get the fuck out and go to bed." he said, his voice quiet yet menacing.

Alfred didn't have to be told twice. He flew out of the room and up the stairs. He slipped into his bathroom and locked the door. He couldn't run any risks of Sam coming back for a round two. He looked in the mirror and cringed at the sight of himself. Dried blood was caked onto his palms and arms and the side of his face and mouth. His Adam's apple bobbed with a suppressed sob.

He closed his eyes and sank to the floor when he couldn't hold the tears back any longer.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>Author's Note<span>_**

'Ello duckies! Have you missed me? I've missed you! Just kidding (but seriously...)

This chapter was a bitch to write and I know I was SUPER late on this update. I've had kind of a writer's block and I have the next chapter all planned out, but it was just _getting _there that sucked.

However, I give you more Sam!

I got a lot of complaints that I introduced Sam too quickly and didn't really delve into his relationship with Alfred enough, so for you, a treat. There is Sam and all of his drunken glory. You are welcome.

Graduation is this weekend so I'll be kind of busy, so I knew I had to crank out this chapter, but things should be going a little smoother once that's over and done with. I also have to wake up with my best friend and her mom to take my little Ukrainian buddy to the airport AT 2 IN THE FUCKING MORNING this week. That's true friendship... that and being the awesome friend who clears up miss-communications. Which isn't me. Haha.

**Shout outs!**

_PixeltheLittlestFembot_ for being awesome and helping me write this chapter. She came up with the idea for dinner. Check out her page. (no links... sorry) Also, she is the friend who is helping me take my Ukrainian to the airport. God bless her for putting up with my MorningSide.

and _angelstryke _for being the most consistent reviewer (which makes you awesome by default.)

Until next time!

~GERMERICA


	9. Chapter 9

_Guess who hasn't been burned on the metaphorical stake in The Great "M" Purge? THIS GIRL. Bahahaha! Just watch me get deleted. But until that happens, I'll keep updating. I suggest listening to Alexander Rybak's _Europe Skies. _Personally, I like it better in Russian because Ivan is a primary character, but it's in English, too, if you don't like not knowing the lyrics. He just makes me want to river dance or something..._

_READ ON!_

* * *

><p>The weekend went painfully slow for Ivan. The only thing that seemed to be on his mind was Alfred. That strange, boy was <em>always <em>on his mind as of late and it was beginning to grate on Ivan's nerves. He couldn't even read a book without picturing Alfred in some way or another.

Before, the boy had only crossed his thoughts in passing. However, ever since he had first started tutoring the boy, Ivan couldn't get Alfred out of his head. He especially couldn't rid himself of the look in Alfred's eyes when he first arrived at the table at the family dinner or that time he leaned over Ivan's desk and made him promise to attend the game. Maybe it had been Ivan's nervousness or his imagination, but the Texan had seemed very contemplative (or Sultry...) It was a look that Ivan had never seen before in Alfred's eyes.

It unnerved Ivan.

Every time he closed his eyes, there were the blue ones staring back. Ivan wasn't sure what it meant, but he knew that he had theories.  
>The first theory was that he was going crazy. Ivan really wouldn't be surprised if this was the case. After all, his sister had developed unhealthy obsessions; what if it was genetic and it had only been a matter of time until he had succumbed to his own form of the sickness? However, Ivan ruled that option out because if he <em>was <em>falling ill with whatever had driven his baby sister mad, he would not have the reasoning to come to that deduction. Therefore, madness was out of the question.

The next theory would be that he _might have_ a smidgen of loneliness. Ivan had never considered himself a lonely person. He had never been one to sit by the phone and hope someone would call or something would come up. While in the University he never went to parties or participated in some of the other students' trips to the local bars. He also certainly wasn't bitter that he was never invited anyways. In fact, Ivan could confidently say he _liked _to be alone. People were nothing but trouble. Yes. Ivan was _completely _comfortable with being alone, so loneliness was not the cause of his strange behavior. (Although he hadn't started contemplating loneliness as an option until Alfred and his uncle's stepped into his life, but it was probably just coincidence.)

The final theory was the most unfathomable: Ivan had _feelings _for Alfred.

It wasn't the fact of Ivan's _preferences _that made the situation so disgusting; Ivan had come to terms with himself and accepted what he was even if the majority of his family hadn't. His elder sister, Katyusha, was the first to confront him (Though Ivan knew that she would be understanding). What disgusted him was that Alfred was his _student. _Alfred was only a boy and Ivan was twenty-eight. An entire_ decade_ distanced their ages. No matter how long and hard Ivan thought on the subject, he could find no fallacy in the logic. All the signs were there; his need to be close to the boy, his uncharacteristic sympathy, his restraint with the boy's laziness... Ivan was falling into the pattern he normally did when he held interest with someone (though those times were far and few between.)

Ivan needed a drink.

He stormed down the stairs in a huff on his way to the kitchen when something caught his eye; a small portrait of his sister. He immediately stopped in his tracks and gently picked up the frame containing the precious photograph.

A small, rare, smile graced Ivan's lips as he tenderly touched his scarf, imagining the scent of his much adored sister still lingered. It was also Katyusha who convinced his Grandfather not to disown him, though she could not do the same with Ivan's father and younger, much crazier sister, Natalia. By the time Ivan had realized he wasn't _normal _his dear mother had long since passed on...

Ivan remembered his grandfather's harsh look when Ivan confessed to him in his private study. Ivan could distinctly recall how his grandfather's grey eyes seemed to glaze with disbelief and stay that way for hours even though it were only seconds passing. Then those scrutinizing eyes softened (the most Ivan had seen them soften since Natalia was born).

Ivan could still hear his grandfather's voice, the only proof that warmth still resided in the man's icy heart.

_"It is your life, Vanya, and I have no choice but to accept it," he said with a soft smile._

Ivan felt an nagging tug in his throat at the memory of the only tender moment he had ever had with his war-hardened and aloof grandfather. It had been strange, but it was simple and comforting. Ivan and his grandfather had been on better terms since that day and it had all been thanks to the sheepishly smiling woman with ashy-blonde hair in the photograph in Ivan's hands.

Slowly, gingerly, Ivan placed the photo back in its place beside the portrait of his grandfather in his younger days wearing his army fatigues.

Ivan suddenly didn't need that drink so much.

Smiling a little more genuine than he had in ages, Ivan decided that it was time to take up an old hobby he had forgotten. He grabbed his coat and keys and briskly made his way to his car. It was time to see what that little gardening shop down town had to offer.

* * *

><p><em>This sucks<em>, Alfred thought as he trudged down the street.

How many times had he been around the block? Once he turned the corner, it would probably make the tenth complete round of the block. Alfred had walked around the block ten times. _Ten fucking times. _

Why did Sam have to invite his buddies over? If there was anyone Alfred disliked more than Same when they were drunk it was the assholes that Sam occasionally had drinks with. The big Cowboys game was on and that meant the house would be loud, crowded, and hectic. Normally Alfred would hang around because he wanted to know the score and there was a chance Sam would get drunk enough to brag about how Alfred was going to be playing for the Cowboys one day to all his buddies to make himself look better. However, as soon as they started filing in, the first thing they pointed out was Alfred's bruised cheek, scrapped up hands, and black eye. Sam told them it had been the football game on Friday and they either were dumb enough to believe him or didn't give a shit (though it was probably the latter.)

"Ten..." Alfred mumbled as he turned the corner completing another circuit around his house.

He slowed briefly as a car drove by and Alfred froze for a moment when he saw the driver speed by. Alfred's eyes widened when he realized that the man behind the wheel looked incredibly familiar. The man has silvery-blonde hair, a large nose, and large shoulders just like a certain English teacher. But what would Mr. Braginski be doing in this neighborhood? The man hadn't waved and Alfred was certain if it were Mr. Braginski he would have at least nodded or made eye contact, or do a double take, or _something._

"Jerk..." Alfred mumbled and continued his endless circling.

* * *

><p>Alfred had officially lost count of how many times he had circled the block. All he knew was that in his aimless wanderings, three more cars had shown up at his house. He didn't recognize them, and so he assumed that the cars probably belonged to friends of his dad's friends.<p>

Alfred heaved a heavy sigh and kicked a stray rock. Sam had hidden his keys the night before and probably forgot where, so that meant Alfred would have to look for them.

To make matters worse, his dad his put his phone with his keys, which meant he couldn't even call someone to pick him up. If he had, his uncles would be the first people he'd call. Alfred's stomach sunk as he realized he probably wouldn't be allowed to his his uncles until his wounds had cleared up. He knew he should tell them... but Sam _had _stopped himself and he _did_ put medicine on Alfred's cuts. Alfred knew that didn't excuse what Sam did, but he was drunk. He wasn't thinking clearly, right? He hadn't meant it, so there really wasn't a reason to drag Arthur and Francis into this...

As Alfred was pondering this, he heard someone call out his name.

"Alfred?"

Alfred stopped abruptly at the sound of his name being called. His eyes widened considerably when his eyes landed on the owner of the voice. There in the driveway of a house that Alfred had been positive was vacant, arms full of gardening supplies, was none other than Mr. Ivan Braginski.

Alfred was suddenly hyper aware of all of his surroundings and himself. Alfred was sweaty from circling the block for almost an hour in the Southern humidity and his clothes were wrinkled and sweaty, too. He also felt incredibly self-conscious of the bruise on his cheek, the cuts and scrapes on his arms, and his swollen eye.

Mr. Braginski also seemed surprised; his thick, yet finely shaped eyebrows were raised and his eyes were wide and they quickly moved in a scanning motion, taking in the sight of the teen in front of him. Neither spoke for a moment from the shock. Finally, when he could take no more of the silence, Alfred addressed his teacher.

"Do you live here?" Alfred asked. He could have cringed at how painfully awkward he sounded.

"Da," Ivan stated. Alfred didn't feel so bad about his voice since Mr. B sounded just as awkward, but he knew that the older man was looking at his injuries, "and I suppose you live near by? I thought I saw you walking earlier..."

_So it was him! _Alfred thought.

"Y-yeah. I live down the street..." Alfred said.

"I see..." Ivan said, his voice was quite and contemplative.

An awkward silence settled between them and Alfred knew why. It was painfully obvious that Ivan knew how Alfred had gotten his injuries or at least had his suspicions, but he didn't know how to point them out or confirm his thoughts. Ivan, however, broke the silence.

"Since you're here," he began slowly, "and you don't seem to be in any rush to do anything productive as per usual, would you mind being of assistance?" Ivan asked.

Alfred could feel his heart speed up as several scenarios (some lewd, some not) danced through his head in a matter of seconds, but he blocked them out quickly.

"Uh, sure, Mr. B. Whatcha need?" He responded, eyeing the gardening supplies in the older man's arms.

Mr. Braginski craned his neck towards the open trunk of his little silver car.

"There are two bags of soil in the trunk, get them and follow me." He ordered.

Alfred nodded and (eager to show off his strength) lifted up both the bags. He had some difficulty, but Alfred was determined to show the Russian man how masculine, awesome, and totally heroic he could be. He followed Mr. Braginski into his house and for a moment, it seemed surreal that he was actually stepping inside his former most-hated teacher's home.

Unsurprisingly, the house was spotless. It was sparsely decorated, as if someone had just moved in, though Alfred knew that Mr. Braginski had been teaching in the town for almost four years. A few pictures hung on the wall of what Alfred assumed to be relatives.

The first picture was a man and woman together; the man wasn't smiling but the woman was. Her lips were turned upwards in a dainty curve and her soft eyes looked understanding and calm. However, the man whom Alfred believed to be her husband, had cold, grey eyes that seemed too critical to be next to the delicate lady beside him. The next portrait was that of a young woman. She was sitting in a chair wearing a dark blue dress, her hair was swept up into white a bow, and though she had the delicate figure of the woman in the other picture, her eyes were that of the man's. Alfred quickly moved onto the next photo; a photo of another young lady with incredible...Woah... Alfred's eyes widened at the woman's inconceivably large breasts. He had to force his eyes back onto her face; a charming round face with a sweet and loving smile. Her hair was the same ashen grey as Ivan's. The final portrait was that of a man who looked to be of great importance. He stood with his hands behind his back dressed in a decorated general's garments. He held his chin up and his eyes seemed to sparkle with an icy glow, even though it was just a photograph. Alfred shuddered and felt like the General's gaze was staring right through him and he hurried along behind Mr. Braginski.

When the duo reached the back yard, Ivan crossed the soft-looking, green grass to the rear part of the yard by the fence. A good potion of the ground by the fence yielded no grass, and badly needed to be tilled. Alfred watched as the Russian set down the multiple bags of seeds and small, hand-sized shovels. He made a subtle gesture with his hand for Alfred to follow as he made his way over to a small shed located only a few away from the large patch of dirt. Ivan pulled out a small, tarnished silver key from his pocket and opened the shed door. He handed one ho to Alfred and took the other for himself.

"Have you ever gardened before, Alfred?" He asked as they approached the barren spot of ground.

Alfred shook his head. He remembered his mother had had a garden when he was little. He remembered how she would grow her own vegetables and herbs. Alfred faintly remembered the smells of the roots and flowers and the feel of the dirt shifting through his fingers when his mother would let him "help." He remembered how he and Matthew would weed for her; he could still hear their laughter when he would get dirty even though they were barely dusty. (He also remembered how Sam got rid of the garden after she left).

"Would you like to learn?" The older man asked, drawing Alfred from his thoughts.

Alfred gripped the wooden handle of the tool in his hands carefully. Slowly, tentatively even, he nodded, not making eye contact with Ivan.

"Yeah. I'd like that." He said, praying the lump in his throat wasn't obvious.

However, if it was, the Russian man didn't say so or act as if he noticed and began to explain the proper techniques for gardening. Ivan patiently went into detail on every aspect of the subject and paused briefly every so often leaving room for questions. Alfred was surprised to find he actually enjoyed what he was doing and loved the feel of the Earth parting underneath his precise strokes with the ho. He loved how he could feel his muscles stretch and contract with the movement of his arms. Alfred liked to feel like he was being productive.

Alfred also liked listening to what Mr. Braginski had to say. He loved how the older man didn't treat him like he was slow when he didn't understand and didn't expect him to already know everything.

He liked how Mr. Braginski didn't ask questions. Occasionally he'd catch a glimpse of the older man examining him with an unreadable expression, but Alfred didn't mind. He liked the attention. He _wanted _Mr. Braginski to notice him. So long as he kept to his business and didn't ask about the cuts or bruises, Mr. B could stare at Alfred all he wanted. Alfred didn't mind.

When Mr. Braginski decided they were done for the night, the two cleaned up the yard and headed inside the house. Ivan fixed two glasses of ice water while Alfred washed his hands in the small bathroom down the hall. Alfred graciously accepted the cool beverage when he re-entered the kitchen and happily drank. The clock on the oven read that it was almost 8:00pm, meaning the game had ended a few hours ago and everyone was probably asleep or had gotten a ride home. That meant it was probably time for Alfred to head home as well.

"Thank you for all your help." Ivan said between sips.

"No prob." Alfred said nonchalantly, though he was glowing on the inside.

The two were quiet and while they both enjoyed their water. Alfred handed his glass to Mr. Braginski when he finished, and the older man placed it in the sink gently to be washed later.

"Well, I better get going..." Alfred said.

"Agreed. It's late." Ivan said, showing Alfred to the door.

At the door, the boy hesitated. Something flashed across his eyes and he abruptly turned to Ivan.

"On Wednesday, could we have tutoring here? My truck's in the shop and I'll need a ride home anyways... And since you live down the street from me..." Alfred trailed off, turning his big blues eyes on Ivan. (A little fib wouldn't hurt right?)

Ivan knew he should say no. He knew that it wouldn't be wise to let the boy spend time at his home. Heknew that it wasn't a good idea.

"Of course. That can be arranged" He said, though he felt slimy on the inside, he also felt excited, giddy even.

It was worth it to see Alfred's eyes light up.

"Thanks, Mr. B! Later!" Alfred said, waving as he took off down the street towards Sam's house.

Ivan weakly waved back as he slowly shut the door. What was he getting himself into...?

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>

Okay, so I got some complaints that the link I gave for my Tumblr isn't working or they couldn't find me.

So here's another link:

h  
>t<br>t  
>p<p>

/  
>laura<br>-von  
>-ansley<br>.tumblr  
>.com<br>/

You know what to do, just type it all in at the top without spaces. You also might try searching laura-von-ansley.

Thank you for all who reviewed. :D

-GERMERICA


	10. Chapter 10

_Woah... It's been a while, huh guys? I'm so sorry. Writer's block is kicking my ass._

_But here's the latest installment and there's no playing around. I'm getting right down to the nitty-gritty. _

* * *

><p>Ivan stared at the unopened letter on his desk.<p>

He knew exactly who it was from. The neat handwriting in Cyrillic was enough to give it away; that and the lipstick print that had clearly been delicately kissed onto the envelope.

Ivan had received the offending parcel on Monday afternoon, after he had gotten home from school and he had been putting it off since then. He ignored it all day Tuesday, and then on Wednesday he had originally intended to read it before classes started. However he had put it off, getting to school later than normal, then he told himself he'd read it during his lunch break. Yet there he sat at his desk, the letter still neglected.

He knew he'd have to open it sooner or later (and at this current behavioral pattern it would be later..._much, much _later...), but he didn't have the will to. He knew she wasn't getting any better; the lipstick print was proof enough. He sighed heavily and placed his head in his hands. He needed to be strong about this, if not for himself, for his sister...

"Mr. B...?"

Ivan jerked his head up at the sound of the tentative voice from the doorway. Alfred stood in the door jamb. He was still moist from the shower and he had his football equipment slung over his shoulder with one hand, the other was nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh. Alfred, it's just you." Ivan replied, "Are you ready to go?" He asked trying to seem calm and poised.

Alfred nodded. Ivan couldn't help but notice that while the old bruises seemed to be healing, Alfred still seemed out of sorts, just as he had Sunday. Ivan didn't take this as a good sign.

The duo made their way through the empty hallway, out of the building, and into the parking lot where Ivan's old silver car sat. The ride home was quiet, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Ivan's soft music flowed from the speakers. At first, Ivan was a little embarrassed because the music was completely in Russian, but a quick glance at Alfred's complacent expression cured that.

Ivan couldn't quite place it, but something in his chest tightened when he realized he was _actually _giving Alfred a ride and was going to tutor him at his house. And for once, Ivan didn't suppress the feeling.

* * *

><p>Ivan's house was just as clean as it had been days earlier, Alfred noted. He followed Mr. Braginski into the kitchen and set his book down on the table.<p>

"Can I interest you something to drink?" Ivan asked politely.

"Sure, got any sweet tea?" Alfred asked.

"Nyet."

"huh?"

"No. Anything else?"

"Water, please.."

Ivan returned to the table with two glasses of iced water. Alfred had spread his books out on the table and had gotten out several pens and pencils as well. Ivan nodded approvingly at Alfred's preparedness; it was a vast improvement from the boy who needed an act of Congress to turn in his homework. As soon as Ivan sat down and got comfortable, the two set to work.

* * *

><p>The two worked through a solid hour and Alfred hadn't said much or even attempt to stray from the topic at hand. To say Ivan was worried was a bit of an understatement. Ivan noticed how the boy's eyes had been cast down the whole time and the usual bright azure color seemed duller; more of a grey-blue than the electric oceanic color Ivan was used to.<p>

Ivan couldn't take it anymore. He wanted-no-he _needed _to know what was wrong. Ivan couldn't handle this melancholy, despondent Alfred. It wasn't _his _Alfred. Yes... his Alfred. Ivan couldn't fight it any longer. He harbored feelings for the boy that he knew were wrong. He had no intention of revealing that, but he did feel compelled to make sure Alfred wasn't suffering. If anything, it would soothe his own restless thoughts.

"Alfred," Ivan began as he was forming the sentences in his mind.

Alfred looked up at him for the first time since they had arrived at the house.

"Please tell me what is bothering you..." Ivan said. He had to fight to keep the waver out his voice.

Alfred opened his mouth to respond, but Ivan cut in.

"Do not lie to me." He said sternly.

Alfred cast his eyes back down onto his hands that he was wringing in his lap. Ivan waited patiently. The seconds ticked by. Seconds became minutes and still no answer. Alfred's mouth was set into a hard line and his eyes were focused and dark. He jumped slightly when he felt a large hand slip under his chin. Alfred hadn't even noticed Ivan scoot closer he had been so lost in his thoughts. Where could he even begin?

The hand gently lifted his face up so that concerned violet eyes met blue eyes on the brink of pouring over.

"You can tell me..." Ivan said softly.

Alfred broke.

Tears that had been welling up in Alfred's tear ducts slowly slid down his cheeks as he spoke, "I don't know what to do! I don't know who to choose!" He sputtered.

"shh... shh... Там, там. Это хорошо ... (_there, there. It's alright...)_" Ivan comforted in hushed tones.

"This whole custody shit is a waste of time... I'm almost 18! It won't matter then... And I love my uncles... but he's my dad. I need him..." He hiccuped.

Ivan fought back the urge to crush the boy in an embrace and opted to nod instead. He moved his hands up to gently wipe away the boy's tears. Alfred flinched as Ivan ran his thumb over the healing black eye and busted lip.

"Fredka... Did he do this to you?" Ivan asked, indicating to the injuries.

Silence.

"Alfred, please. Tell me." Ivan urged.

"He didn't mean to. He was drunk... he patched me up afterwards."

"Is this the first time he's ever hit you?" Ivan asked.

Alfred tried to avert his gaze away, but Ivan's strong hands held his head still as he locked his lavender gaze on the boy.

Alfred shook his head, "n-no..."

"Have he ever his you sober?"

There was a moment of tension as Alfred internally debated whether he'd answer or not. Finally, he nodded.

"Do your uncles know?" Ivan asked, his voice barely a whisper.

".. No..." Alfred whispered, his voice hoarse and raspy, "Though they've asked..."

Ivan's eyes softened and he wrapped his arms around the younger man who leaned into the embrace and wrapped his arms around Ivan's neck. Ivan wanted to kill Sam. He wanted him to suffer for every single little tear that cascaded down Alfred's cheeks onto Ivan's shoulder.

Ivan knew he had to tell someone; and he had three people in mind.

"Alfred, I want you to know that I will look after you. I know what you are going through..." Ivan said, his voice barely a whisper.

Alfred looked up at him with watery, puffy, red-rimmed eyes. "You do?" He asked.

Ivan nodded solemnly, "When my mother passed away, it changed my father for the worse. He took up heavy drinking and taking his frustrations out on my sisters and I. Though if he wanted to get to them, he had to go through me first," While Ivan spoke, he slowly removed his scarf to reveal jagged scares etched into his skin.

"My grandpa, Winter Braginski, took us in when my eldest sister Katyusha turned 17. She had legally moved out and told grandpa of our ordeal. Unfortunately, the damage had taken it's toll... especially on my little sister, Natalia."

Ivan thought of the still unopened letter and felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach, but he carried on.

"You see, because I protected her, she became rather.. attached to me... and it became very unhealthy." Ivan couldn't go on about Natalia, so he moved on, "My other sister finally got enough money to leave the country complete and went to Ukraine, then to Canada. My Grandpa is still in Russia and my father could be dead for all I know..." Ivan concluded expressionlessly.

Alfred had stopped crying, a look of sickened awe was etched into his features. Tentatively, he reached out a hand to Ivan's neck and brushed his fingertips along the scars. Ivan shuddered at the touch, but didn't fight it. Soon, both of Alfred's hands were placed gently on the base of the older man's neck. He looked up with his big blue eyes at Ivan.

"I'm sorry..." He muttered.

" Why are you apologizing? You have nothing to be sorry for." Ivan stated, gently placing his hand behind Alfred's head._  
><em>

"For all this... I shouldn't have gotten you involved..." He grumbled and turned his head away.

However, Ivan used his other hand to cup Alfred's chin and turn it back to face him.

"I'm glad you did." He whispered.

Their eyes were locked onto one another. Alfred's hands trembled at the base of Ivan's neck. He leaned forward ever so slowly. Ivan closed his eyes and used his hands to guide the younger. Their lips gently touched; a warm, brilliant, electric sensation. Alfred's eyes fluttered closed and he felt cold when Ivan slowly pulled away.

"Mr. Braginski?"

"Please, call me Ivan..."

"Ivan...?"

"Da...?"

"Thank you..."

"You're welcome, Fredka..."

* * *

><p>Alfred was asleep in the guest room, no doubt tuckered out from the emotional roller-coaster he had endured only a few hours ago. Ivan was not surprised that Sam had not yet called. Ivan had taken that window of opportunity to call Gilbert and tell him what happened (excluding their little moment...). The German agreed to call Francis since Ivan's understanding was that they were close friends.<p>

After he had hung up, Ivan went up to his study. He shut the door quietly, and took Natalia's letter out of his pocket. He sat down and read it, shaking his head the entire time. However, instead of ignoring it like he usually did, Ivan took up his favorite pen and began to write.

_My dear sister,_

_I realize now that I must be honest with you. You will not be happy with the contents of this letter, but I believe things will never get better between us unless you can understand my feelings. _

_I love you, but only as a sister..._

Ivan sighed and signed his name. He addressed it to her, and addressed another letter to the asylum with contact information. Once he placed the stamp, it felt like a weight was gone from his shoulders, but he wasn't done. He took out another sheet of paper and began to delicate write.

_Dear Katyusha_...

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes<span>**

DRAMA BOMB!

Ho! Ho! I bet ya'll didn't see that one coming, did ya? Haha!

...

I am a despicable human being. I was a little drained after writing this (and it has nothing to do with the fact I was up until 4AM playing Skyrim the night before and it's almost 1AM now... Nope.  
>Nothing to do with that AT ALL). But I knew that you guys have been patiently waiting so I thought I should give you something that would make you cry, then give a lady boner. Unless you're a guy. Then it's just a normal boner.<p>

...

**Special thanks to Golden Lioness- Goldie. She really helped me out of the slums on this one. **

...

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to sleep. Then, I'm going up to the lake for a few days to swim, and while I'm not swimming watch Disney movies and play my latest addiction, Skyrim.

Until next time,

GERMERICA


	11. Chapter 11

Gilbert stared at the phone.

How the fuck was he going to do this? There was no easy way out, no loophole, and definitely no escape from the fact that he _had _to do this. He felt obligated to make this phone call. Yet calling one of his best friends and informing him that his nephew was at his English teacher's house because he was too afraid to go home was easier said then done. Hell, it wasn't even easily said for Gilbert! The German had always had his suspicions about Alfred's home life, but it never seemed appropriate to grill the poor kid. However, now that his suspicions had been confirmed, he had to pass the news on to Francis.

Gilbert reached for the phone and scrolled through his contacts until he saw his old friend's name. He had to do this. For Francis. For Alfred. After all, he owed Francis... big time. It was the Frenchman who had secured Gilbert a job in this backwater town after the controversy in Germany.

He pressed the call button.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Gilbert began chewing on his lip and he drummed his fingers on the counter impatiently.

"Bonjour, Francis Bonnefoy."

"Frenchie? It's Gilbert."

"Oh! Gilbert! To what do I owe this phone call, mon ami?" Francis chirped. Gilbert cringed knowing it would be some time before he heard the light-hearted tone again.

"We need to talk... it's about Alfred." Gilbert said softly.

Francis was silent for a moment, "Oh... I see. What's the problem? I mean, I know I'm not his guardian, but I would still like to know... But, Gilbert, you have to call  
>Sam." the Frenchman stated bitterly.<p>

Gilbert took a deep breath. He would need all of his awesome to get through this.

"Sam is the problem." He responded with more confidence than he felt.

Silence followed. Suffocating silence. Gilbert was choking on the quiet; it was so unlike Francis to be speechless.

"What...?" Francis finally said, though it sounded like he was being strangled.

"Sam _is _the problem, Francis." Gilbert said, his voice going hoarse.

"Mon dieu..." Francis whispered, "I knew that he and Sam didn't exactly get along... is he okay? Is he hurt?"

"Alfred's fine. He's with Ivan Braginski right now. Turns out he only lives a few blocks away from Sam's house, so Alfred went there. He said that he'll keep an eye on the kid until you or Arthur come to pick him up."

"Oui... Thank you, Gilbert..."

"You gonna be okay, Frenchie...?"

There was a soft chuckle on the other end of the line, "oui... I'm more worried about Alfred."

Gilbert felt a lump in his throat.. totally unawesome...

"Don't worry, Francis. He's a lot stronger than most give him credit. He'll be fine."

"I know... I can't help but worry..."

"I know, Francis. Go get him. He needs you.. You and Arthur."

Francis gasped and Gilbert knew had said something wrong.

"Oh God! What is Arthur going to say? He'll be furious!" Francis exclaimed, his voice was panicked.

"Francis, it will be okay! Just give him some decaffinated tea or something!"

"Yes, Yes... You're right. Goodbye, Gilbert."

"Yeah... bye..."

Gilbert hung up. He numbly walked over to the couch in the middle of his small apartment and sank onto the cushions. He put his head in his hands and tried to block out all his thoughts. However, the only two things he could think of were _why did it have to happen to one of my kids _and Germany...

* * *

><p>Alfred sat up. A brief panic washed over him as he tried to figured out where he was, only to remember that he was in Ivan's guest room.<p>

_Ivan...? _Oh. Right. Mr. Braginski...

Tentatively Alfred reached up and touched his lips. They felt chapped and he suddenly really, really needed water. He slowly got off the bed and opened the door. He looked down the hallway. There were several doors and Alfred knew one of them had to be a bathroom.

He tried the first door that he came across. A closet. He moved on to the next door. He opened it and froze. Ivan sat in an old chair by a large window with his legs crossed and a book in hand. He lifted his head up at the sound of the door opening. When his eyes landed on Alfred's rigid frame, he smiled softly.

Alfred stood dumbly in the door jamb, unsure what to do. Nervously, he shuffled for a moment and shifted his gaze down to the floor; he was far to embarrassed about their kiss to make eye contact. In fact, he wasn't even sure if any of it had happened. Maybe he had gotten sick and passed out during their tutoring session and dreamed it all. He hadn't really _bawled like a baby _in front of his incredibly handsome English teacher had he? Had he then embraced and kissed the elder man? Nope. No way. All a dream...

"It is rude to linger in door ways, Fredka." Ivan said smoothly.

Alfred snapped his head up to see Ivan placing a bookmark in between the pages of his book then set it aside. He then gently placed his hands in his lap and smiled knowingly at the American. Said American continued to stand motionlessly and his blue eyes were wide. He was the epitome of a deer stuck in the headlights. Ivan smirked ( a feral curve of his lips that made Alfred shudder) and raised one of his hands. He moved his index finger in a beckoning gesture. Alfred gulped and stepped deeper into the study.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Ivan said, that same smirk playing on his lips.

There was a slight underlying tone of jest in the Russian's voice, and though Alfred wasn't sure why, it made him squirm. However, it wasn't necessarily an unpleasant feeling either. Alfred managed to gather enough of his senses to nervously nod. If he needed water before, he _really _needed it now. Alfred watched intently as Ivan slowly stood up and strode over to him. Ivan stood in front of Alfred and looked down at him. Alfred felt his breath hitch at the sudden closeness.

"Did you need something?" He asked, his accent was thick and slighly husky.

Alfred gulped. He could feel his neck and face turnning crimson. What did he want again? Wow, Ivan's eyes were lavender... Alfred licked his lips. His dry, dry lips. Oh. Oh yeah... water.

"I was just looking for some water..." Alfred mumbled.

Ivan chuckled and Alfred felt his chest tighten in an anxious way that was akin to excitement.

"Water... why not check the kitchen?" Ivan asked with a quirked brow.

Alfred shrugged and pulled his eyes away from the violet orbs in front of him. He bit his lip. What was _wrong _with him? Why couldn't he just look at Ivan? _Perhaps it's because Ivan and Mr. Braginski aren't exactly the same... _A little voice in his mind chimed. Alfred tried to push it away, but he knew it was right; Mr. Braginski would never smile like that (much less smile) or make his stomache do flips. _Ivan _might though... Alfred was coaxed from his thoughts when he felt a hand under his chin, turning his face upwards to catch the Russians violet gaze.

Alfred felt like his heart was about to stop under the vision of those beautiful, lavender orbs. Ivan's eyes drank in every little feature of Alfred's face; his high cheek bones and his well set jaw. He completed his assement, saving his favorite feature for last; Alfred's oceanic blue eyes. Ivan loved how they sparkled with anticaption as he held Alfred's chin in his hand. Ivan never wanted to let go of that face. He never wanted to break away from that gaze.

But he did.

He used all of his will power to step away from Alfred and walk around the dazed teen. He motioned for Alfred to follow and led him to the kitchen where he got him a glass of iced water. Both of him were wordless, unsure of what to say or do. Finally, it was Ivan who spoke.

"Your uncle will be by to pick you up soon," he said.

Alfred nodded dumbly, his eyes were trained on Ivan and he seemed to be working hard to control his breathing. Ivan suddenly felt guilty, but for what he wasn't sure. The Russian took a seat across from the American and together they sat in a tense silence, the only noise around them was the clink of the ice in Alfred's glass as he took a sip. This continued and Ivan lost track of time. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there with Alfred, but he didn't exactly care either. It was if they were both in some kind of trance. Yet as soon as Ivan felt comfortable in the silence, Alfred set his glass down a little more forcefully than he had before.

"What are you playing at?!" Alfred snapped and practically jumped out of his seat to glare down at Ivan who looked at him with a shocked expression.

"I do not understand," Ivan replied, frowning slightly.

Alfred scoffed. "Don't give me that! You know damn well what I'm talking about! A few weeks ago, you hated me, but now... Now..." He drifted off and tightly closed his eyes and barred his teeth. His hands were curled into fists at his sides.

"One minute you act like you totally want me, then the next you treat me completely different! I'm so sick of the mixed signals!" He hissed, "And it isn't funny!"

Ivan stared at Alfred dumbstruck. He had never seen the happy-go-lucky American so angry... He hated it almost as much as when Alfred cried. Ivan had screwed up. He should have never have given in to his feelings. He should have kept his distance the way he always did. Ivan slowly stood. He had to fix this. Alfred watched as Ivan slowly strode over to him. He knew what he had to do.

"You're right. I haven't been fair." Ivan said, "So allow me to clear things up."

Alfred's eyes widened as Ivan took the younger's face in his hands and pulled him closer. Ivan leaned forward and placed his forehead on Alfred's. Ivan closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in Alfred's warm, summery scent.

"I want you, Alfred F. Jones. You are the most frustrasting, facinating, and unique young man I have ever met. But this attraction I have for you... It isn't right. It isn't fair to _you._ You need someone your own age."

"I don't want someone my own age," Alfred whined, "I want you..."

They stood like that for a moment; wrapped in each others arms. Ivan kissed the top of Alfred's head and tried to pull away, but Alfred held on. He nuzzled into the older man's chest. Ivan was torn. He knew he shouldn't allow this. He should push the boy off, tell him it wouldn't work, and as soon as he could, start looking for anohter teaching job in another city.

But he couldn't.

Instead, he tilted Alfred's head up and softly kissed him, "Your uncle will be here soon..."

Alfred nodded and allowed Ivan to pull away. Ivan then went into the kitchen to start dinner. He was in a daze-like state. Had he just entered a relationship with a student...? He wasn't sure, but he knew that either way, Alfred was his.

* * *

><p><strong>Well... shitty ending is shitty. I'm sorry this took so long to get updated. My life has been really chaotic. <strong>

**You see, my boyfriend of almost 2 years broke up with me about 3 weeks ago and he's already posting pictures of himself with another girl. So it's kind of tough writing a love story when you're kind of heart broken. Then, once I got myself together to start writing again, my computer wigged out and now I have to use my Dad's. However, I doubt he'd like to read my strange fanfiction. Hahaha. **

**To top it all off, I'll be heading off to Universtiy on Sunday, so I'm not sure how much I'll be writing. **

**Reviewers:**

**Jieikobu, Candyland, The Puzzler of Riddles, Noix, XxShatteredTrinketxX, Neverwinternighsgirl777, Lafayette722, DanieSora, Golden Lioness-Goldie (of course!), Noturna168, JKProductions, and 3 guests. **

**Thanks for the reviews. **


	12. Chapter 12

Alfred sat at Ivan's kitchen table and happily munched on whatever Russian dish the older man had prepared. He had told Alfred the name of the yummy meal, but it hadn't been as important and was quickly forgotten.

"Do not eat so fast, Fredka. Do you even taste the food?" Ivan asked with a small smile and a raised brow.

Alfred nodded vigorously and continued to shovel the food into his mouth. Ivan couldn't help but feel a strange sense of flattery as Alfred devoured enough food to feed two men twice Alfred's size. As Ivan watched Alfred's uncivilized eating habits, he heard a knock at the door. He pushed his chair out and quickly went to answer the knocking. Upon opening the door, he was immediately greeted by two familiar faces. Arthur and Francis stood on Ivan's door step; Francis looking jaded and Arthur looking furious and panic-stricken.

"Where is he?!" Arthur asked immediately.

Ivan stepped politely moved out of the way so Arthur and Francis could enter his home and responded politely, "he is in the kitchen. Follow me," then he quickly led the men to the kitchen.

Arthur bolted across the room and latched onto the boy, clinging to him for dear life and immediately began bombarding him with concerned questions.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt? Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Arthur demanded, his eyes had gotten red around the rims with the tears he was holding back.

Francis had accompanied the good-will interrogation and was also holding onto his nephew, only Ivan wasn't sure what he was saying because he, too, was on the verge of tears (he wasn't as good at hiding it as Arthur was) and he was speaking in French.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I promise." Alfred assured and wrapped his arms around the two in a warm embrace.

The three of them sat there for a while like that. They simply held onto each other and absorbed another's warmth. Ivan couldn't help but feel awkward, as if he didn't belong in his own home. However, he suppressed the feeling for their sake. He knew how important family was…

He allowed his thoughts to drift to his sisters. He had felt like a weight had lifted off of his burdened shoulders when he had sent the letters to his sisters; he only hoped they received them in a timely manner and responded. He hadn't even realized that Francis had broken away from his husband and nephew to hug Ivan. Ivan tensed when he felt the embrace.

"You have done a wonderful thing for us, Ivan… You have no idea" He squeezed Ivan warmly (or tried to as Ivan was much bigger than Francis.) and he stepped back.

Ivan's muscles tensed, still very unaccustomed to physical contact, but he took deep breaths and allowed the French man to back away with Ivan's fist forcing him back. Francis was looking up at him with tearful eyes and he took Ivan's hands in his and looked at him with an intent stare. Ivan wanted to pull away but couldn't. Within those blue eyes was a mixture of gratitude and agony in the Frenchman's blue, red-rimmed eyes, but amongst all the pain his eyes were still warm; just like Alfred.

Ivan instantly knew that he had done what he needed to. He had made a difference. He had stopped a cycle that could have potentially destroyed Alfred and his family.

Francis gently tightened his grip on Ivan's fingers and delivered a warm smile. Ivan felt his chest tighten ever so slightly. Francis released the Russian's hands and returned to Alfred and wrapped his arms around the smiling teen. Arthur looked up and forced a smile onto his face and nodded curtly towards Ivan; no words were needed to convey his appreciation and Ivan respected that (and in all honesty preferred it over Francis' approach).

The three of them sat like that for a while longer before they all gathered themselves enough to collect Alfred's books. Francis and Alfred both hugged and thanked Ivan again then went out to the car. Arthur however, lingered in the door way. His emerald eyes were dark and his brow was creased in thought.

"Tell me everything." Arthur said, turning to face Ivan.

"I'm afraid I don't unders-"Ivan began, but Arthur cut him off.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Why did Alfred finally came clean? I have to know, and not just for the custody situation, but for Francis and I. I have to know what happened." Arthur said, a dark glint was in his eyes that Ivan was sure was the Brit's court face; the expression he wore during business hours.

The Briton reached into his pocket and pulled out a card and handed it to Ivan. As Ivan took the business Arthur held onto his hand with a firm grip.

"This is my business number. Call me as soon as you can during the week days during work hours. We can either talk over the phone or set up and appointment." Arthur said, his voice was detached and all business.

Ivan nodded, trying his best to match Arthur's businesslike manner.

"I will be sure to call you." Ivan confirmed.

Arthur's features softened and he stepped away from Ivan. His eyes were no longer darkened.

"I knew I could count on you. Thank you…. For everything." Arthur said, and then left without another word.

Ivan didn't move. He stood in the middle of his living room in a trance-like state trying to decided if everything that had just happened was a dream or not. He wasn't sure how long he had stood there until he heard his phone buzz from the kitchen. He shook his head and looked at the buzzing piece of metal and plastic. On the screen there was a number flashing that he didn't recognize. Ivan opted to ignore the call. However, just as soon as the buzzing ended, it began again. Annoyed, Ivan picked up the phone only to see the same number flashing across the old, foggy screen. Frustrated, he finally answered the phone.

"Hello. This Ivan Braginski, who is this?" Ivan said, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice.

"_Hello…? Brother?"_

* * *

><p>Hello my lovely readers and reviewers! Have you missed me?<p>

Thanks to all of you who sent me reviews and concerns about the craziness of my life over the past few weeks. Things are going a bit smother now and I'll have time to update on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Speaking of updating, this story only has a few more left. Over the weeks I think I figured out how I'm going to end this sucker! I'm so excited that I followed this through to the end and I would have never have been able to do it if it wasn't for all of you.

I can't thank you enough.

~Germerica


	13. Chapter 13

"Katyusha?! Moya dorogaya sestra! Ivan exclaimed as he clutched the phone to his ear.

"It has been long time, hasn't it?" Katyusha spoke.

Her voice was like honey to Ivan. It had been so long since he had heard her soft spoken words that he had almost forgotten. Yet there was her voice: warm, caring, and wise.

"Da! Too long! Why did you call? You couldn't have already gotten my letter… I just sent it today!" Ivan stated.

"You mailed me…? Oh brother you're so sweet! No… Just something in my heart told me that I needed to check on you…" She said sweetly.

Ivan's heart was glowing. His dear, dear sister hadn't forgotten him after all of those years… and she was still as caring as always. He happily began informing her about his life in America and how much he missed her and his grandfather. He also told her about how he had reached out to Natalia and the asylum.

"Oh I'm so proud of you moi brat…" She sniffed.

Ivan knew that she was on the verge of tears; it was not unsual for her to become emotional. He waited for her to calm herself for a moment before asking how her life was treating her.

"Oh things have been so much better since I came to Canada!" She gushed, "I've been living with this lovely woman and her delightful son."

"Really? Please tell about them." Ivan asked eager to know about his sister's life.

"Oh I would love to! Where to start… Well, her name is Liberty and I met her in one day on my night shift at a little café. She was a regular customer and I was normally her waitress. She expressed that she was having financial troubles. It just so happened that my landlord had raised my rent and I wouldn't be able to afford to live there… so we made a deal."

"Weren't you worried? You barely knew this woman!" Ivan asked protectively.

"I was more worried about being homeless, Vanya…" Katyusha murmured.

Ivan felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach when he heard his sister's voice waver. Perhaps it hadn't been the best time to be judgmental. Ivan quickly muttered an apology and urged the emotional woman to continue. Once she had gathered herself again, she pressed on.

"I've been living with her since and things have been better. And her son is so shy, but very nice and smart." She recalled fondly.

"He sounds like a very well behaved child, sestra. What is his name?" Ivan asked.

"His name is Matthew Williams. He has his mother's maiden name, though. Apparently Liberty and her husband had a falling out about 12 years ago and she left and took Matthew. Her husband however wouldn't let her take his twin though… At least that's what she told me." Katyusha trailed off.

Ivan fell silent. Where had he heard this story before? It sounded so familiar…

"However, Liberty agonizes over Matthew's lack of social life. He's a very bright student, but he doesn't have many friends and he spends most of his time in his room… He wants to find his brother, but his mother often discourages it."

Ivan wanted to tear his hair out. He _knew _he had heard this story somewhere and it was driving him mad. He could feel the answer lurking in the back of his mind and it was maddening.

"Katyusha… What was Liberty's maiden name?" The Russian asked, a sudden realization dawning on him.

"Jones, I believe… Sometimes when she's had too much wine she talks about him… I think she's too proud to say she misses him, though."

Ivan's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he began to arranged all the pieces of the puzzle into the big picture of the small, small world he lived in.

"Katyusha… I need to call you back. I have a very important phone call to make." Ivan said.

"Of course, brother. Please, don't take too long." Katyusha said.

Ivan felt, guilty for cutting off their conversation so quickly, but he had to call Arthur. This was important. He told Katyusha that he loved her and it wouldn't take too long, and then he hung up. As soon as he disconnected the call to her, he began dialing Arthur's number. He waited impatiently as the phone rang. One ring… two rings… three rings…

"Hello. Arthur Kirkland speaking."

"Arthur? It is Ivan… I have something I must tell you." Ivan said quickly. His pulse was racing and his stomach was in knots.

"Ah… Ivan. Is this about Alfred?" Arthur asked. Ivan could hear the Briton's business voice coming setting into place.

"Nyet. Not exactly. Tell me, do you know a woman name Liberty and a boy named Matthew?" Ivan asked.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"My God... How do you know them? Who told you?" Arthur began firing off questions at break neck speeds.

"It is a long story, but I know where they are. They are currently living in Canada with my sister, Katyusha." Ivan began before going into more detail.

He relayed all of the information that his older sister had told him to the British man who sat on the other end of the line in quiet disbelief.

"… I can't believe it… You really found her… after all these years." He said incredulously, "I hate to ask this, but could you possibly have you sister put in a word for Francis? It would mean so much him… I know we ask you to do so much already…"

"You can count on me, Arthur." Ivan finished.

"… Thank you, Ivan… You… You've been a "blessing" as Francis and his over-religious family would say…" Arthur said quietly as if compliments were not a part of his vocabulary.

"You are welcome Arthur. Are you going to tell Francis and Arthur?" Ivan asked.

"Not yet… I don't want to get their hopes up until I'm positive that we can reunite Alfred and Matthew." Arthur said quietly.

Ivan nodded even though he knew Arthur couldn't see, "Agreed." Ivan stated.

"Excellent. Keep in touch, friend." Arthur said before politely excusing himself to return to his work.

Ivan set the phone down and took a deep breath. He knew he had to call Katyusha back, but he had to gather his thoughts. He made himself a cup of tea and sat down in his easy chair to relax before he had to call back his sister. He loved her dearly, but her sensitivity could be somewhat exhausting and he needed some mental peace before he could proceed to call her back and get further involved in the Kirkland, Bonnefoy, Jones, and now Williams' family drama.

As he calmly sipped his now cool enough tea, he heard a knock at the door. He tried to ignore it, but the knocking persisted until it was a solid banging noise. Annoyed, Ivan stood up and went over to the door. As soon as he opened the door, pain exploded in his nose and he tumbled over.

"_Where is my boy?"_

Ivan's hands shot to his burning nose as Sam Jones stood fuming in the doorway, his hands curled into fists.

"_Where is Alfred?" _Sam snarled

"He is with his uncles. Where he should be! You don't deserve him!" Ivan snapped back, standing to his full height.

At this, Sam instantly deflated.

"He's… with them…?" He said, his posture slumping from that of a bowed up, feral cat to that of a kicked puppy.

Ivan wanted to tear him apart. He wanted to lunge at the man and claw his eyes out. However, he couldn't because the man who stood before him was a completely different man from the Sam Ivan knew. This man wasn't the terror of Alfred's life. This man wasn't the intimidating, hard-pressed man Ivan had come to know… This man was broken. However, that wasn't what was stopping Ivan from utterly destroying the man in front of him was the expression of absolute despair etched into his face.

"I've lost him... I've pushed him away and he's never coming back…" Sam whispered before crumpling to the floor, "God damn…"

Ivan had no idea what to do, but his heart had dropped into his stomach and he felt nothing but pity for this man who had fallen to his knees and was on the verge of tears. The worst part was that he looked just like Alfred.

"First his mother and Matthew and now Alfred…" Sam lamented.

Ivan set his jaw and squared his shoulders; he couldn't pity this man. He deserved to feel regret and pain! He had made Alfred suffer and deserved the same fate. It was _right _that his life was crumbling in on him and he would ultimately be left utterly alone… At least that's what Ivan wanted to think, and had it not been for Alfred waltzing into his life, he probably would have told this man just that.

But he didn't; he couldn't.

"Why did you treat him like that? Did you think he liked being pushed around?" Ivan asked sternly. His tone sounded like an adult trying to reason with an upset child.

"I don't know… I know I fucked up… You wanna know when I truly admitted I had fucked up to myself?" He said with a chocked voice.

Ivan remained silent, unsure of what to say or how to react. Sam told Ivan anyways.

"It was that night that we first met, after the football game. The way he smiled when he was with you and Francis and Arthur… He'd never smile like that around me. I'm not sure he ever has."

Sam slowly stood up and looked at Ivan with exact same "kicked puppy" look that his son had mastered. His eyes were red rimmed and glistening with tears. Ivan wanted to be angry, but he couldn't. For once in his life, Ivan couldn't bring himself to be utterly furious with the man in front of him (even if he had nearly broken Ivan's nose). The Russian knew exactly why he couldn't be upset, too. He knew that deep down, Sam loved Alfred.

Sam was truly remorseful. He was truly sorry.

Ivan's father would have never admitted to fucking up. He would have never admitted he felt awful for his treatment of his children. He would have never indicated that he did or had at one point loved them, but Sam did.

"I know I don't deserve that kid… he's twice the man I'll ever be." Sam continued numbly. A ghost of a smile graced his lips for a brief moment; so brief that Ivan wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it.

"I'll never get to see him again… will I, Braginski?"

"That decision isn't mine to make..." Ivan said quietly.

Sam nodded and shuffled awkwardly in place. He looked to the door and then back to Ivan.

"I'm… I'm awfully sorry for all the trouble I've caused… I just… He's…" Sam fumbled with his words, unsure of what he wanted to say.

"He's all you have, isn't he?" Ivan summed up.

Sam's head snapped up and his chocolate eyes locked onto Ivan's. He slowly nodded as if he was having difficulty accepting the fact that what Ivan had said was true.

"Afraid so…" Sam mumbled, hanging his head in shame.

A few moments of silence passed between them before Sam looked to the doorway. He glanced back at Ivan one last time before muttering one last apology and scurrying for the door, shutting it behind him.

Ivan was in shock.

He felt his sore nose just to make sure it had happened, and sure enough blood coated his fingers. Ivan went into the kitchen to clean himself up, but all the while all he could think about was the weak, vulnerable side of Sam that had now been exposed. Ivan felt torn and confused. That man had hurt Alfred, but had he done it because he had been hurt as well? The Russian didn't want to think that was a logical explanation; however his double major in psychology told him was.

One thing Ivan knew was that Sam wasn't the hopeless drunk that Ivan had originally though him to be and perhaps there was still a way to salvage the broken pieces of the Jones family.

Ivan picked up his phone and redialed Katyusha's number.

"Privet? Ivan?" his sister's soft voice came over the receiver.

"Katyusha, I need to speak to Liberty. I know her other son." Ivan said seriously.

The line was silent, but Ivan could hear voices in the background. There was a rustling noise and then a voice Ivan had never heard before spoke.

"Hello. Who is this?"

Ivan took a deep breath… Here was to doing the right thing.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes<span>**

Could it truly be an update? I think so ladies and gentlemen!

I was so happy that nobody guess it was Katyusha on the line! I was afraid I was too open with the plot, but apparently I have more plot twist abilities than I had previously thought! Thanks for the ego boost guys!

We also see a different side of Sam here. Poor Ivan... good thing he had a double major in Psychology, huh? Hahaha. (We'll just say he went the non-traditional teaching route shall we?)

Also, the moment so many of you have been waiting for... ENTER MATTHEW AND ALFRED'S MOM! I know Liberty wasn't the best name... But I thought Liberty and Sam would be cute. *le derp-a derp-derp*

On a more personal note, I'm doing a lot better in University than I thought. :D I really love it, but I'm really busy. It took, like, a week to finish this! However, I'm really proud of it. ^-^

I'm also talking to my ex again... I've given myself a deadline of about three months (basically Christmas) to win him back. Wish me luck!

_Germerica._


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